


Boris Habit's 9-Step Guide to Closure

by irlenolacroix



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Misgendering, Personal Growth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Slurs, Therapy, Trans Male Character, also kamal and habit are. gay. but yall knew that, anyways i am SO passionate abt this story i hope yall enjoye, kamal has ocd and anxiety, the slurs and misgendering dont happen until very late in the story, verrrrry slow burn lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlenolacroix/pseuds/irlenolacroix
Summary: “I kind of want to see him.”Kamal looked up at Boris, his brow furrowed with confusion. “You… Why?”The flower on the magnolia tree was so heavy that it was scarcely attached to the branch any more, Boris noticed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably to tell him I am still here, alive.” His green eyes were cloudy. “To get… closure, like my therapist said.”Kamal let out a long breath. Boris couldn’t see his face, but he heard him turn and scoot closer to Boris. “Would you like for me to help you?”***In which Boris Habit makes the impossibly hard decision to find and confront his abusive father in a desperate search for closure.(Has been edited from its original version to cut down on misspellings for accessibility and continuity purposes.)





	1. Step one: Ask a question.

**Step one: Ask a question.**

It took several months for things to come around to any semblance of normalcy. Then again, Boris had never really had a real “normal” to come back to, so he supposed he should have expected the feeling of disconnect that came with the Habitat’s closing down. He didn’t expect it, though. He’d tried to come away from that part of his life with no expectations, but, well… Things never seemed quite right. Something inside him was off-balance. Maybe it always had been, but now it was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t that things were bad. They really weren’t. He was in therapy now--he’d been terrified of it before he’d started, but at Kamal’s nudging, he’d finally made an appointment. And… it helped! It really did! He was surprised by how cathartic it was to actually  _ talk _ about his struggles instead of just bottling them up and coping in ways that he was now learning were unhealthy. (He supposed he should have known that stealing teeth as a coping mechanism was unhealthy, but at least that was in the past now.) He’d also gotten a prescription for lithium, which he supposed helped--he certainly didn’t feel like he wanted to die quite as often, which was a nice break from his usual day-to-day life.

He’d begun gardening more as well. Sometimes his focus on gardening was so unwavering that he would forget to eat or sleep until he was on the brink of passing out. He didn’t mind, though; he had so many flowers and such healthy soil that he hardly noticed his own body any more. He was going through the process of getting his horticultural license as well; classes throughout the week kept him busy when he wasn’t gardening or in therapy, and he liked them, he did; he craved the feeling of gathering information about his passion. But the classes were a means to an end. He wasn’t going back to dentistry. Everyone knew how that had turned out.

Things were good. They were fine. Really.

Except… sometimes they weren’t.

It wasn’t rare to find Boris awake at odd hours of the night, sometimes pacing through his house, sometimes working in his garden, sometimes talking to himself in the mirror, sometimes staring at the phone and wondering if he should call somebody but not wanting to bother anyone at two o’clock in the morning. He’d suffered from recurring nightmares for most of his life, but for some reason they were starting to get worse. He was constantly fatigued. He’d never gotten his drivers’ license (never saw the need for it when there was a subway or a bus or a taxi) and that was probably a good thing; he was so tired all the time that he was pretty much constantly inebriated to some degree. Sometimes a manic storm of energy would take over and he would feel on top of the world and complete tasks that he’d deemed incompletable before, but more often he was exhausted. Falling asleep became a test of bravery each night. He knew it was better to get some sleep than none at all, but he always stayed awake as long as possible, not wanting to see what awaited his imagination as soon as he closed his eyes.

Most days went one way. Wake up, garden, therapy, class, garden, pass out, inevitably wake up mere hours later, rinse and repeat.

And then there was Kamal.

Kamal had been another constant in Boris’s life since the dissolution of the Habitat. It had taken Kamal a while to get comfortable with Boris again, and of course, why wouldn’t it? But eventually, after impromptu lunch hangouts and multiple apologies and time spent just driving in Kamal’s car, the two were able to call themselves friends again. It was even better than before. No more secrecy, no more uncertainty, just a real friend that Boris could count on no matter what happened. 

Kamal was a dental assistant again, deciding to go back to doing what he knew how to do, but he would often tell Boris that it wasn’t nearly as interesting now that he had a normal boss. He’d come to Boris sometimes with stories of a funny kid he’d worked with or an uncharacteristically terrified adult, and Boris liked to listen. It served less as a reminder of his old life and more as a way to spend time with a person that he felt understood him. He’d begun to ignore the subway and bus in favor of Kamal driving him places when he was available, regaling the events of the day and asking Boris how therapy was, how his garden was coming along, if he liked his classes. Boris would ask about Putunia, whom Kamal had taken in after the Habitat dissolved, and Kamal would always beam and talk proudly of her like she was his own daughter; and in a way, now, she was. Boris liked hearing that. He liked hearing the pride and love in Kamal’s voice.

The Day That Boris Made A Big Scary Decision was much the same as any other day at the start. He woke up early, tried to ignore the gut-wrenching images burned into his brain, got ready like usual, and began gardening. Today he needed to trim his roses and spend some time with his lily, but of course he would continue working after that. The pansies didn’t need to be replanted quite yet, but he might as well go ahead and do that. Of course, then he would have to spread more fertilizer and if he did that he might as well turn over the mulch, and--

Kamal was supposed to come over that day.

Boris brightened up at the realization. He and Kamal had made plans to spend a few hours together at Boris’s house before Kamal took him to his therapy appointment later that day, and Boris couldn’t wait. Kamal was really the only person he ever had over at his house, save for the occasional visit from the flower kid, but Boris still relished the occasions when they happened. His gardening was much less manic that day, more anticipatory than distracting. Kamal was coming. Kamal never minded the dirt on his gardening gloves.

Boris nearly ran down the hill in his front yard when he heard the car door close. He looked up and there he was--Kamal Bora, in all his anxious splendor. Kamal offered a shy wave from where he was standing and started walking up the hill, Boris rushing down to meet him and grab him in a tight hug which was met with a breathy chuckle from his small friend.

“Hey, Boris.”

“Kamal!” Boris hugged Kamal tighter before pulling back to look at him, a huge grin on his face. “It's so good to see you!”

“You saw me two days ago!” Kamal laughed shyly. “It’s good to see you too, though.” He looked up, gesturing to the yard. “It looks great! The garden, that is, it looks really good. Really good.”

“Aw, you flatter me,” Boris said, turning back toward the house. “Come in! Let's spend some time like we saibd!”

Kamal followed Boris into the house. It was a large house and, like most things, Kamal had no idea how Boris paid for it, but Boris was completely oblivious to that. They headed to the main living room, Boris sitting on one end of the couch and Kamal on the other. There was a large window on the side of the room opposite Kamal, curtains opened so as to allow natural light. Kamal nearly glowed.

“Sooooe?” Boris asked, leaning back and raising his eyebrows as he looked over at his friend. “How are things? Work? Putunia? Life in general?”

“Lotta questions at once, okay.” Kamal gave a small grin. “Ah, work’s fine. The usual. Nothing super eventful. My boss is so… he’s so  _ normal _ , Boris, it drives me  _ crazy _ !” He laughed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Like… he just tells me to clean teeth, and so I do it, and he tells me to organize some papers, and so I organize them, and it’s just… Every day is pretty much the same. And I mean, I’m getting a paycheck, so I can’t really complain, it’s just… Not quite as, ah, ‘spicy’ as working for you was. If you know what I mean.”

“I know.” Boris still wasn’t sure how Kamal missed working for him, but he supposed that question was for another day.

“Yeah. Um, ‘Nia’s fine. She’s really good. She just started back at school and she’s really enjoying it so far. She’s…” He let out an embarrassed chuckle. “She’s been sent to the principal’s office a few times for punching other students… But we’re working on that. Talking about it, you know. I mean, one time she punched a boy because he was pulling her hair and teasing her, so I let her know that that one was okay by me, but she can’t just fight the other kids for fun.” He sighed and looked up at Boris. “Life is okay right now. I think I’m doing okay.”

“That's good. I’m glad you're doing okay.”

Kamal smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, his brown eyes searching Boris’s expression. “How are you?

The way Kamal asked the question wasn’t casual enough for Boris to make up an answer on the spot. It was genuine imploring, a real desire to know how he was. Boris swallowed. It… wasn’t like he was  _ bad _ , right? He wasn’t having the worst time of his life. He could say he was doing just fine. He knew how worried Kamal got.

But then again…

“I’m…” Boris’s face fell a little and he averted his gaze. “I’m trying to be okay. Really hard, too. But…” He shrugged and gave a little closed-mouth smile. “I don't know. Things are getting weird.”

Kamal moved a little closer. “Nightmares again?”

“...Yeah.”

“About him?”

Boris shuddered at the question, even though no name was said. Just the phrasing was enough to conjure up the images, just as vividly as before, but Boris managed to push them down long enough to respond. “Yes. I just…” He pressed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to prevent tears, before letting out a long breath. “He's always there. Every time I sleep. All the time... I can't avoid him. And it's always the same dream. Over and over and over.”

Kamal knew what dream that was. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don't worry about me.” Boris mustered a little smile before turning his gaze to the large window, his eyes fixing themselves on a particular flower growing on a magnolia tree. “I…” He trailed off, closing his mouth, afraid of what idea may come out next.

Kamal tipped his head. “You…”

Boris bit his tongue, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from saying it. He supposed nothing was going to be enough, anyways. It was an idea that needed to be said so that he could stop dwelling on it constantly, or at least do something about fixing it.

“I kind of want to see him.”

Kamal looked up at Boris, his brow furrowed with confusion. “You… Why?”

The flower on the magnolia tree was so heavy that it was scarcely attached to the branch any more, Boris noticed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably to tell him I am still here, alive.” His green eyes were cloudy. “To get… closure, like my therapist said.”

Kamal let out a long breath. Boris couldn’t see his face, but he heard him turn and scoot closer to Boris. “Would you like for me to help you?”

Boris’s gaze snapped over to Kamal. He wasn’t expecting a serious offer of help. He wasn’t even sure this was a good idea. But… Kamal seemed sincere. His dark eyes told Boris only the truth.

In that moment, an ordinary day shifted. It became The Day That Boris Made A Big Scary Decision, and would be known as such thereafter.

“Would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! this is my first sfm fic, and i'm so incredibly excited to be making content for this lovely fandom!!! i've been planning this fic for a very long time and i cannot wait to share the rest of this story with you all.
> 
> JUNE 2020 EDIT: i have edited this fic to remove boris's misspellings in his speech for canon-compliance, as well as for accessibility reasons. i kept them in pabit's speech in later chapters.
> 
> i'm hoping to update this fic biweekly (probably saturdays and wednesdays if all goes according to plan), so hopefully that pans out and i'm able to keep up with that. this fic has been a real labor of love for me to plan out and work on, so i really hope you all love it as much as i do.
> 
> comments and kudos are super-duper appreciated, and my tumblr is winemomparker if you'd like to chat sometime!!! thank you so much for reading!!!


	2. Step two: Make a plan.

**Step two: Make a plan.**

As soon as the idea was out in the world, Boris knew it wasn’t going to go away. He had freed it. He had made that decision the moment he even considered it as a possibility. And now Kamal knew. Kamal knew, and in Boris’s eyes, as soon as more than one person knows about an idea, it becomes real. Unavoidable.

The two migrated to the kitchen, Boris grasping in drawers for a pad of paper and a pen, items which he thrust onto the countertop upon finding them. Kamal leaned against the counter about a foot and a half from Boris, his elbows propping up his small frame as he looked up at his friend. 

“What now?”

Boris stared at the blank notepad, wiggling the pen in his hand as he did so. “I… We make a plan, don't we?” He looked over at Kamal, who had moved so that he was sitting on the countertop. “We figure out a plan and stick to it.”

“What kind of plan are you thinking?”

“Welle…” Boris chewed his lower lip before clicking the pen and beginning to scribble on the pad. “His name. I feel like that comes first.”

Kamal scooted over toward Boris, looking down at the pad of paper. Boris was hurriedly writing down Russian letters in a way that betrayed his background as a doctor via its messiness. “Can… can you write it in English, too?”

“Oh!” Boris quickly finished what he was writing and transitioned to something that was readable to Kamal--the name  _ Vladislav Kandinsky _ . “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry. I…” Kamal looked up at Boris. “Did you change your last name when you moved to the States?”

Boris nodded, not returning the eye contact. “I… Well, I was already going to change my name, so why not change the last name too?” He gave a quick glance in Kamal’s direction, offering as much of a smile as he could muster. “I liked the way ‘Habit’ sounded.”

“It, ah, it suits you.”

Boris’s gaze softened a little. “Thank you.” He nodded and turned back to the pad of paper. “Let's see… So if I'm…” He began murmuring under his breath, writing rapidly on the pad of paper. “He should be…” The scribbles took the form of an equation, eventually coming out with one number which Boris said aloud as he was writing it. “Seventy! He should be about seventy years old.”

“Okay!” Kamal leaned back slightly to get a better look at the notes. “That’s progress. Good progress, yeah?” He looked up at Boris, trying to meet his eyes. “You think so?”

Boris mustered a nod. “Absolutely good progress!” His green eyes remained focused on the pad of paper, however. Something inside of him had become overcome by anxiety, terrified to move his gaze lest something be in the room that hadn’t been before. It was a silly fear, he knew that much, but it was easier to keep his eyes in one place rather than attempt to face it. “Next, ah… You think maybe…”

“Do you have a phone number for him?”

Boris shook his head. His parents had never had a landline and he couldn’t see his father ever getting one.

“Uhm… An address, maybe…?”

An address. Of course. That seemed to be the most obvious thing to list when trying to find somebody. Boris looked at the paper and began to write. “Well, if he has not moved… He should still be at…”

The realization hit him as he finished writing the words and he nearly dropped his pen with the enormity of its weight. Kamal tipped his head to the side, his voice tentatively piping up. “Are you okay…?”

“He’s…” Boris looked up at Kamal and lightly chewed his lower lip. “Probably still in Moscow.”

The aura of the room shifted instantaneously. Kamal let out a long breath, leaning his head back against the wall. Boris pressed his face into his hands, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyelids until he saw flashing lights. The sudden enormity of the task sank into him, weighing into his flesh. He suddenly felt a thousand pounds heavier.

“Boris?”

“I have to go to Russia, then.” He sunk down, pressing his elbows into the countertop and burying his head in his hands. “There’s no other way.”

“You’re sure he’s still there?”

“He has to be.” Boris’s hands migrated to grab onto his curly hair and pull at it. “He said he’d be thankful if I never ree-turned. He would not ever want to come here.” His grip on his hair tightened, his knuckles going white at the stiffening of his hands, yanking harder at his curls. “Fuck…!”

Kamal slid off the countertop, taking a few tentative steps toward Boris and gently resting a hand on the back of his shoulder. “Hey… Relax, it’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? We’re gonna figure it out. Uhm…” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Your appointment is soon, do you think you’re still okay to go to that?”

Boris took a moment to pull himself out of his frustrated contemplation, but he did, and lifted his head to look at Kamal, letting go of his hair as he did so. “...Yeah. I can still go.” He straightened to his full height. A few stray strands remained on the counter. “Sorry. It's just…” He trailed off and forced a weak smile.

Kamal nodded. His eyes wandered over the floor and he managed a small laugh. “Uh… this is a silly idea, but… Would it be comforting if we went and asked the others about it…? I mean, I, I…” He glanced up at Boris and pushed a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe that would be nice, to get more opinions on the whole thing. Or at least someone who knows more about international travel, ah, than I do, at least. Hell, I’ve only ever left New York a few times, it’s not really my specialty, but, ah, maybe… Sorry, I’m rambling… Maybe someone like Tiff, though?”

Boris tipped his head to one side, sniffing a little as he did so, the only indication that he was near tears. “Tiff?”

“She did an international tour once, right? I think I’ve seen the poster somewhere.” Kamal offered a friendly shrug. “I mean, if anybody can help us with figuring this out, I’d imagine she probably can. It might be nice to see Mirphy and Millie too, yeah?”

Boris considered, leaning back on his heels, just now noticing the pain on his scalp from where he had been tugging at his hair a minute ago. “I… Yes,” he said. “It would be nice to see them again.”

“Great!” Kamal beamed, hoping to cheer Boris up with his enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll pick you up after the appointment is done, then. I would just stay in the waiting room the whole time, but I have to get Putunia from school…” He took a slight pause, leaning back against the counter. “I’ll have to call Parsley to see if he can watch her while we’re at Tiff and Mirphy’s…” He trailed off again before pushing himself to a standing position and looking up at Boris. “I’ll pick you up and we can head that way, then! You about ready to head to the appointment?”

Boris started a nod, but realized immediately that he’d forgotten something important. “Just one second…” He bolted from the kitchen, scrambling up the stairs into his bedroom, tripping on the way and hearing a muffled shout from Kamal on the first floor. He didn’t stop moving, though, not until he had grabbed a little green puppet from his nightstand and skittered back down the stairs to park himself in front of Kamal. He grinned genuinely for the first time since they had begun talking about the plan, tapping the puppet’s fleece skin with his long, thin fingers. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

“What was that thud?”

“I tripped on the stairs.”

“...Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Habit gestured to the puppet. “Pabit is coming. In case I get stressed out.”

Kamal still didn’t really like the puppet. Too many charged memories. Boris knew that. But he understood how important it was for Boris to have it around, so he never said a word about it. He just smiled, gently patted the puppet on the head, and motioned for Boris to follow him to the car.

The ride to the therapist’s office was as light as Boris could have hoped for given the circumstances. Kamal played a tape he knew Boris liked, they talked about things that wouldn’t scare them, they managed to laugh with each other. Anxiety still hung heavy in Boris’s chest, though. He was sure that feeling would remain throughout the appointment, as well as later at Mirphy and Tiff’s. He knew that much about himself.

The Day That Boris Made A Big Scary Decision, he then knew, was going to last far longer than a day. Decisions were ongoing, and he knew that he couldn’t let himself stop this one. Not if he wanted to be proud of himself. Not if he wanted closure.

Kamal waved when Boris got out of the car. Boris watched him drive off. He then turned and checked into the office, waiting in an uncomfortably hard chair for his therapist to be ready for him. The world seemed less colorful than before. Everything had become shades of gray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, chapter 2 is here!!! this one is a little shorter, i promise the chapters will get meatier as we go forward with the story. sooo many thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on chapter 1, it really does give me the motivation to keep going!!!
> 
> again, kudos and comments are super-duper appreciated!!! they really do give me the motivation to keep writing and i promise i appreciate every single one of them :-)
> 
> my tumblr is winemomparker if anyone ever wants to chat, and again, thank you tons for reading!!! i love you!!!


	3. Step three: Have second thoughts.

**Step three: Have second thoughts.**

Therapy was much the same as usual. Boris couldn’t bring himself to bring up the plan to his therapist. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was still too new to him. Perhaps he was afraid that he would start doubting himself upon saying it, or that she would try to talk him out of it. He didn’t know. So he went with the regular questions, the regular answers, the regular routine.

Was he experiencing any unchecked aggression? No, he didn’t think so.

Was his confidence doing any better? A little bit.

Was he spending some time outside his own property, perhaps going out? Not much, but more than last time.

Was he seeing friends? Yes, Kamal came over a lot and he’d seen the flower kid about a week before.

Was he still having suicidal thoughts? Not as bad. He didn’t have a plan or anything. He was working on redirecting them when they came.

Were the nightmares still coming? Yes, worse than before. He handled them, though. He gardened a lot. He tried to get enough sleep.

Was he taking his medication? Yes, every day.

How were his social skills? Getting better, getting better, getting better.

All right, that’s all the time we have. Thank you, Boris. Your homework for these next two weeks is to try and go out and do things that challenge you, and work on those mindfulness techniques we talked about.

Thank you, have a good day.

Boris stood outside after his appointment ended. Kamal arrived a little late, about eight minutes, but Boris didn’t mind. Kamal was still new to being a parent, after all. Putunia could be a handful. Boris didn’t fault him for it. He smiled when Kamal pulled over beside him and squeezed himself into the car, trying not to think about where they were headed next.

“How was it?”

“Mmm… It was normal,” Boris said, glancing over at Kamal. The other man was at a seemingly perfect angle to the sun and Boris would have thought he was glowing had he not known any better. “Is Putunia all right?”

“Uh, yeah! She’s great. Only tried to fight one kid at school today, and apparently it was, ah, consensual play-fighting, so… I think I’m allowed to call that one a win?” He chuckled softly as he began to drive. “And Parsley’s with her right now, so she’s happy as could be. He’s her favorite babysitter. About the only one that can, ah, handle her, I think.”

Boris allowed himself a little smile. “I’m really happy that she’s doing well.”

“Me too.” Kamal sighed. His gaze flitted away from the road to rest on Boris, just for a second, before darting back over the dashboard. “I sometimes wonder if I’m cut out for it, you know.”

“For what?”

“You know. Parenting. The whole ‘dad’ thing.” He glanced over his shoulder as he merged right, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he did so. “She’s such a good kid. She really is. And I just hope I’m doing better by her than her, ah, than her old parents did, you know? I mean…” He braked for a red light, taking the stop as an opportunity to look over at Boris. “I was always kind of, like… I guess ambivalent would be the right word? Ambivalent, yeah, about having a kid, being a parent. I mean, I like kids. I think they’re cool and fun. But… I dunno. I guess I never really imagined that I was gonna be a single parent of a seven-year-old little spitfire by the time I was thirty-four.”

Boris nodded. “I don't think anyone really imagines that as part of their life plans.”

Kamal laughed and looked back at the road just as the light turned green. “Yeah, you’re right. I just… I don’t know. I worry a lot.” His tone was bittersweet. “That I’m not doing good enough, I guess. Or that someone else could do better.”

Kamal’s dark eyes were shiny, and Boris wondered if he was going to cry. He’d seen Kamal cry a few times, maybe four or five, but that was far surpassed by the number of times Kamal had seen him cry. Boris was very prone to crying, anyone who knew him well knew this, so he was very well-acquainted with the signs of oncoming tears. Kamal’s lips weren’t quite shaky enough, but they were pressed a little tighter than usual. Boris knew what Kamal’s lips usually looked like. He’d sometimes spend full conversations looking at them. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Not right here. Not today.

“I think you're doing great, Kamal.”

Kamal bit his lower lip, letting out a rueful sigh. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” Boris leaned down slightly, trying to get as close as he could to Kamal’s eye level. “I know band parents, and you’re not one of them. Not even close.”

Kamal didn’t say much for a moment, and a brief terror passed over Boris--had he made it worse? But that moment passed, and Kamal softly said “Thank you,” and Boris knew he meant it.

The rest of the drive wasn’t necessarily silent. It was a little bit somber, sure, but at this point both Kamal and Boris knew that the anxiety wasn’t going to be diffused with conversation. So they drove, and talked, and hummed along to a tape that Boris put in. It wasn’t a horribly long drive, only about fifteen minutes out, but it was enough time for Boris to attempt to steel his nerves in preparation for what was to come.

They pulled in front of the house at about four-thirty in the afternoon. Boris hadn’t come to see Tiff and Mirphy in a long time, but the house didn’t look much different than it had the last time he had been here. If anything, the small front garden looked a little nicer, like it had grown into itself more. Some of the lawn was scuffed, undoubtedly as a result of Millie’s rambunctious nature. The two women and their adopted daughter probably could have afforded a larger house in a nicer neighborhood, but Tiff preferred living more modestly, and Mirphy found too much wonder in the mundane to care. It was a good house for their patchwork family. A good fit.

“...Boris?”

Boris blinked and realized that while he was contemplating the intricacies of the Webber-Fotoparat-Coulro house and yard situation, Kamal had already gotten out of the car and was standing outside, looking at Boris through the passenger-side window. Boris coughed and got out of the car, wobbling slightly as he did so. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry. Ah… do you still have Pabit?”

Boris nodded and opened his coat a little. Pabit was nestled in an inside pocket, sewn in specifically to store him. “Didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable,” Boris explained, closing his coat again. “He’s just here for me.”

Kamal nodded, understanding, and offered a grin that relaxed Boris ever so slightly upon seeing it. “Are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm.” A short pause. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Yeah! Of course!” Kamal seemed to hesitate before stepping forward and placing a hand on Boris’s arm. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, yeah?”

Boris tried his best not to lean too close into the touch. “Yes. But still. Thank you.”   
  


Kamal’s hand lingered where it was for just another moment, but he pulled it back and approached the door, Boris in close tow. Kamal was the one to knock.

“Coming!” shouted a woman’s voice from inside the house, a sound which was quickly followed by hurried footsteps and a call of “No, Tiff, I got it!” just as the door was opened. Standing in the door frame was Mirphy, still an inch or two taller than Boris, still with a camera seemingly perpetually in hand. “Oi, hey! We weren’t expectin’ you two!”

“Hey, Mirphy,” Kamal said. “Sorry we didn’t, ah, call beforehand, I probably should’ve thought of that--”

“Is that Kamal?” A softer voice came from the house, this one followed by another woman entering the front room and stopping in her tracks once she saw who was outside. “And Habit!” Tiff straightened and smiled gently at the two of them. “I haven’t seen either of you in ages! What brings you by today? Oh--come in, sorry it’s a little bit of a wreck, we weren’t expecting anybody…”

Mirphy stepped to the side, allowing Kamal and Boris to enter. Despite Tiff’s words, the house wasn’t a wreck at all, aside from the occasional discarded photograph and the open music book on top of the piano in the front room. Boris put his hands in his coat pockets, feeling around for Pabit’s outline. He adored Tiff and Mirphy, he really did, but he feared that the anxiety and guilt he felt upon even thinking of any of the Habiticians would compound tenfold upon being inside their residence again. They really all were such good people, they were, and seeing them hurt more than it should sometimes. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take back the pain. He couldn’t take away all the hurt he had caused.

“I, ah…” Kamal’s voice snapped Boris out of his thoughts. “Again, I’m sorry we didn’t call first. We shouldn’t have shown up unannounced. But we have some things that we wanted to ask Tiff about? And Mirphy, I don’t know if you’d know anything about it either…”

“Oh?” Tiff turned toward a large, arching doorway into the next room. “Here… how about we all sit down and then we can talk about whatever you need to ask about? Make yourselves comfortable.”

“You guys hungry?” Mirphy asked, stepping around Boris to go through another door to the kitchen. “I think we still have that bag of pretzel sticks. Lemme grab ‘em.”

“Thank you.” Boris’s voice was softer than he had anticipated.

The four got settled in the living room. Boris’s gaze rested on the off-white carpet, noticing every stray fiber and unnoticeable stain until a nudge from Kamal brought him back to the room. Kamal had a little smile on his face, just enough for Boris to see, and he lightly tipped his head in the direction of Tiff and Mirphy. It took a moment for Boris to understand what Kamal was suggesting of him, but once it clicked, he cleared his throat and looked over at the two women.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about international travel,” Boris said. “Tiff, you've done a tour in other countries, right?”

“I… Well, yes, once.” Tiff adjusted her glasses, smiling fondly, as if recalling a poignant childhood memory. “1989. Canada, Europe, Asia. Can’t say it was the most relaxing part of my life, but I had fun.”

“Didn’t care enough to come t’ Australia,” Mirphy teased.

“Oh, hush.” Tiff chuckled softly and looked at Boris. “Where exactly are you planning on going? I could probably give you a pointer or two, depending on where you’re headed.”

“I’m… Moscow,” Boris specified, forcing himself to make as much eye contact as he could with Tiff through her tinted glasses. “Russia.”

Mirphy, halfway into a bite of a pretzel stick, let out a grunt and swallowed as quickly as she could. “Hold on--” She coughed, seemingly having chewed too fast, before looking at Boris. “You’re… I mean, one immigrant to another, you’re from there, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why d’ya need tips on how t’go back?” Mirphy quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, you’ve made the trip once already, yeah?”

Boris opened his mouth to answer, but found that no sound came out. He… really didn’t know what to say to that. Why  _ did _ he need advice on international travel? He’d done it before. He could find a way to do it again. Mirphy was completely right and he hadn’t a clue what to say to her.

Did he really want to do this?

“We’re mostly looking for things like airlines and hotels.”

Boris snapped out of his contemplation at the sound of Kamal’s voice. This seemed to be a recurring theme today, he thought.

“Hmm…” Tiff leaned forward in her chair, tipping her head to the side. “Give me just a minute. I think I remember the name of the hotel I stayed at and the airline I flew with. I’ve just got to…” She stood up and started walking towards the kitchen. “Let me find some paper and a pen so I can write it down for you.”

“Thanks a ton,” Kamal said, his gaze flitting back to Boris. Boris’s eyes rested on Kamal for a moment, on his encouraging smile, before wandering across the room to some photographs on the wall, undoubtedly Mirphy’s work. The photographs covered a range of subjects, the most frequently occurring being a dead fish and stills of Tiff and Millie. Even though they’d only been a real family for a few months, the familiarity and adoration that one expects of a family was evident in each photograph. 

There was one portrait of Tiff that caught Boris’s eye in particular. She was leaning toward a mirror, taking off makeup with one hand and waving to Mirphy and the camera with the other. She had a little smile on her face, characteristic of her humble demeanor, and while her body faced the mirror, her eyes were focused on the person holding the camera. There was a softness there, evident in every part of the composition, that Boris felt he had not seen in ages, not outside of his own fantasies of perhaps someday being loved. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it.

“Sooo…” This time it was Mirphy’s voice that broke Boris’s space-out session. “Why are you headed back to Moscow, ah? Just felt like seein’ the sights?” A smirk crept into her voice as she continued, leaning forward with a devious glimmer in her eye. “Goin’ on a honeymoon or something, ah?”

The question immediately shattered what was left of Boris’s self-preserving spaciness. He heard Kamal stutter beside him--”I, ah, no, we just, I, ah… Boris?”--but his mind was already somewhere else, far beyond the room. He wasn’t spacing anymore, no, but he was reliving. Perhaps he’d thought about it too much today. Perhaps these were the consequences of getting too ahead of himself.

_ Why are you headed back? _

Why was he?

Before Kamal could ask if he was okay, Boris managed to mumble an “Excuse me” before getting off the couch and turning away from the others just as his eyes began to overflow with tears. He’d told himself he wouldn’t cry over this today, not with anyone around, at least, but it was too late now. He walked swiftly down the hallway, not hearing Kamal call after him, not hearing Tiff ask where he had gone, not noticing anything around him until he managed to duck into a bathroom and lock the door behind him. He immediately sank onto the cold tile floor and let out a sob, all of the repressed emotions of the day coming forward into one great burst of pain and terror. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t know how he’d ever imagined he could.

The outside world was slipping away quickly. All that was left was Boris.

When his energy faded, it was gone. A few sobs was all he had in him, he supposed. Funny how that worked. He transformed almost instantaneously into a motionless lump. It was really his only protection anymore. He wasn’t so out of it that he was back in Russia, nine years old again, no, but something from across the Atlantic lingered inside of him, pulsing within him, threatening to choke him from the inside out if he so much as said a single word. So his eyes defocused, leaving the room an off-white blur. He wasn’t here nor there nor anywhere. Nothing existed but breath and exhaustion and the faint humming of some far-off reality.

“...Boris?”

Boris could hardly comprehend the sound of his own name.

“Hey. It’s me. Um… are you okay…?”

Kamal.

“Can you… um, okay, ah… Can you say anything right now?”

No. Not now. His lungs couldn’t store the sounds that words needed.

“Ah… Okay. Um… Is Pabit there? Can we talk like that, maybe?”

Pabit.

Boris didn’t feel his arm moving. He was only dully aware of the addition of new weight to his hand. But Pabit was awake. Pabit knew how to answer.

“ _ Kam-all! I herd u wam-ted to talk? _ ”

A sigh of relief from outside. “Oh, thank  _ fuck _ .” A cleared throat. “Are you okay in there?”

“ _ Mm… O-kay ee-nuf! We r on-tbhe Floar! _ ”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear you’re okay enough. Uh… Boris, is it okay to tell Tiff and Mirphy why we’re asking them for advice?” A small pause. “They’re really worried about you. I want to make sure you’re, ah, you’re okay with them knowing what’s going on.”

For a moment, Boris heard nothing. He wondered what he would have said had he been able to speak.

“Boris?”

His hand moved. “ _ Yes, tbhat’s o-kay by us! Thamk-yuo 4 asking! :-) _ ”

Kamal sighed again. “Okay. Thank you. Um…” A swallow. “Hey, I’m here for you. You’re not alone. I know this is all really scary, but I think you’re going to be okay. And, um, I’ve got you, no matter what, you know? This is all gonna turn out okay. Promise.” Another short pause. “Just come out when you’re, ah, when you’re ready, okay? No rush. And… yeah. I care about you, um, and I’m here, and you’re going to be okay. We both are.”

“ _ Ouggh, thamk-u so mubch, Kamal! U r juste tghe ‘Kind-Emst’ :-) _ !”

Kamal’s footsteps faded into the living room and Boris heard the muffled sound of explanation mix in with his own breath. Pabit collapsed into his lap, exhausted from having been the conduit for Boris’s words. Boris didn’t know how much longer he sat there. It felt simultaneously like thirty seconds and thirty days. But he knew that eventually he regained awareness of the burning sensation in his eyes, the aching in his throat, the stiffness in his neck, and managed to get back on his feet. Pabit reclaimed his home inside Boris’s coat. The reflection in the mirror was blurred with the remnants of tears, but it was Boris. He was here. He was alive.

When Boris stepped back into the living room, nobody asked any questions. Tiff just smiled gently and handed him a piece of paper with some names and phone numbers written on it, while Mirphy wished him good luck. They exchanged good-byes, thank-yous, hope-to-see-you-soons, and Boris followed Kamal out to the car. Millie was in the front yard when they left, and Boris smiled and waved weakly. Millie only stared in wonder until Mirphy called her inside.

The drive back to Boris’s house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. When Kamal pulled into the driveway, he turned to Boris before either of them had the chance to get out. “Do you want me to, ah, stay the night tonight?”

Boris managed a tiny smile. “You don't need to.”

“But do you want me to?”

“I want you to get a good night's sleep with your daughter.” Boris opened the car door. “I'm going to be fine, Kamal. You don’t need to worry.”

“I… I know you’ll be fine.” Kamal lightly nipped at his lower lip before sighing and meeting Boris’s gaze. “Just… Feel free to call if you need me, okay?”

“I will.”

“Even if it’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Not then.”

“You can call then, though. If you need to.”

Boris smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” said Kamal with a small nod. “Yeah.”

  
Boris stood in the front yard as Kamal drove off. The flowers in the garden seemed to have survived the day all right without him there. When Boris turned his gaze to the sky, he saw orange and red and pink, and he decided that he ought to try and sleep tonight, at least a little bit. He stumbled inside, laying the names and numbers Tiff had given him by the phone in the kitchen before heading upstairs to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three is HERE!!! this one was a BITCH to write, but i think it came out pretty well, i really hope you all agree!!! i wasn't sure if the puppet has a Canon Name (i've heard it referred to in a lot of ways), but the most common name i've heard for it is pabit, so that's the name i chose to use. i really like the headcanon that pabit is somewhat sentient and acts as an extension of boris himself, so i sort of took inspiration from that idea with this chapter!!!
> 
> also!!! i got a question about this on chapter 2, so i just want to go ahead and let you all know that i am absolutely fine with fanart of scenes from this fic being drawn; in fact, i would probably cry happy tears if anyone drew art inspired by this fic!!! if you draw something inspired by this, please tag my tumblr winemomparker in it, i would love to see!!!
> 
> thank you all so much for all of your incredibly lovely comments and kudos, it truly does mean the world to me. i hope this chapter is satisfying!!! chapter four should be up by wednesday!!! again, thank you all millions, you have no idea how much your lovely comments mean to me!!!


	4. Step four: Get a second (and third, and fourth, and fifth) opinion.

**Step four: Get a second (and third, and fourth, and fifth) opinion.**

Morning came as it always did, at about three o’clock. Boris was ripped from sleep yet again, this time by a particularly vivid nightmare that was only slightly different from those that came before. This one had the same general plot points, the same lingering anxieties, the same “oh god what if he’s been here the whole time and I just haven’t noticed” fear, but it felt more tangible now. Boris felt less and less in control of it. He was too afraid to look in the mirror by his bedroom door, too afraid that his mouth would be bleeding.

His gaze instead turned to the clock on the wall. Though it was blurred by a mixture of dry eyes and budding tears, he decided that the vague 3:05 he could make out was the perfect time to replant his chrysanthemums. It was better than being paralyzed in bed until he inevitably succumbed to sleepiness again.

He staggered to his feet, kissed his Lily on the windowsill, and headed out.

The chrysanthemums were as healthy as ever. They didn’t really  _ need _ replanting, but one slightly wilted leaf and soil that needed to be turned was all that Boris needed to carefully dig around the roots and move them over to the front of the house. He wasn’t quite nonverbal at the moment; he managed to muster some comforting words for the flowers and a little “hel-lo” for every worm he came across while digging. That was good. It was good that he could still speak.

The marigolds would be next, he supposed. It was getting colder out and they would probably get just the right amount of sun over in the backyard. He had some that still needed to be planted, anyways. It would be better to go ahead and do it now.

Dig, dig, dig. Plant, plant, plant. Sing softly to your flowers. Pretend you’re their father, kind and loving, unconditionally supportive. Listen to them. Give them what they need. Kiss their petals and whisper your hopes to them. Allow them to grow at their own pace. Love them, love them, love them.

Six o’clock rolled around. Boris could tell from the beginnings of sunlight in the sky, not yet coloring the clouds but dimming the stars just enough that the sky appeared more gray than black. His hands were sore, pricked with thorns and crusted with dirt, and he realized just then that he’d forgotten to put his gloves on. The discomfort was numbed by the satisfaction of having turned every inch of soil. The plants all looked healthy. He supposed he would know by the afternoon if that was truly the case.

He should probably let Kamal know that he felt better.

He washed his hands in the kitchen sink before going over to the phone on the countertop. He glanced briefly at the sheet of paper he’d left there last night, the one Tiff had given him, but he knew he couldn’t think about that just yet. He had another phase of the plan that he wanted to work through first. The hotel and flight could wait.

The phone, however, rang before Boris could even dial the number. He jumped a little in surprise at the sudden noise, but he picked it up nonetheless, a grin creeping onto his face as he realized who it probably was.

“Hello?”

“Boris?”

“Kamal!” Boris immediately felt lighter. “Good morning!”

“Good morning!” Kamal’s voice was a bit raspy, as though he had just woken up. “I, ah, I wanted to call and see if you were feeling any better from last night.”

Boris’s entire body wobbled at the knowledge that Kamal wanted to check in on him. “Oh! Yes, a lot better!” He knew it was probably better not to worry Kamal by bringing up the nightmare. And besides, it wasn’t a lie. He did feel better than before. 

“Yeah?” Boris could almost hear the smile in Kamal’s voice. “That’s, ah, that’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Is your morning all right?”

“Yes!” Boris hoped he didn’t sound shaky. “I was actually about to call you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I wanted to tell you that I got another idea for my plan! The next step!”

“You… Oh! Okay! Uh, one second…” Boris heard what was presumably Kamal covering up the receiver, but he still heard the words that followed despite the muffling. “Putunia? Are you out of bed yet?” A pause. “Okay, that’s good! Can you go ahead and get dressed, then?” Another pause. “You already started? Great! That’s so good! Give me just a minute and I’ll get breakfast ready, okay?” More muffling noises, then Kamal’s voice was clear again. “Sorry about that. Getting ready for school. Um… what’s the next step?”

“Ooo, tell Putunia I say hello!!! If she wants to hear from me, that is.” He swallowed and glanced across the kitchen at the beginnings of the rising sun through the window. “The next step! I need to figure out a script.”

“A… script?”

“An idea of what I’m going to say when I see him.” Boris leaned back against the counter. “So I can feel… prepared.”

“Oh. Okay. If that’ll help you feel better about it, then, well, I support it.” Kamal cleared his throat. “Do you, ah, want me to help out with that?”

“You don't have to.”

“But do you  _ want _ me to help?”

Boris was silent for a moment. The silence was met with a knowing hum from Kamal, followed by a bump to the receiver.

“Tell you what… I have a shift, ah, this morning, but I can meet you for lunch at about noon? We can go to that place you can walk to from your house, the one you showed me last month, what’s it, ah, what’s it called…”

“Florian’s?”

“Yeah! Florian’s, that one! I like that place. Um--Putunia, no, you can’t bring your punching glove to school, I’m sorry--I’ll… meet you there around noon-ish, we can talk about it?”

“Yes!” The idea of meeting Kamal for lunch made Boris feel like flowers were growing in his chest, but he elected to ignore that feeling for the time being. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. “I’ll see you there! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah!” Kamal let out a little chuckle. “Um… It’s a date, then. I mean, what I mean by that is, I’ll be seeing you there. About noon. To talk about the plan.” Kamal swallowed and let out another breathy laugh. “See you.”

“See you, Kamal.”

_ Click _ \--the call was over.

The clock on the wall read 6:15. A little less than six hours until he needed to meet Kamal. Boris supposed he could go back out to the garden, but his hands already burned with scratches from thorny plants, and there wasn’t any gardening left to do unless he wanted to re-do all the things he had already done. The garden store where he got his seeds wouldn’t be open this early, so trying to get new flowers for the few bare patches in his yard would be futile at this time of day. He was too exhausted for a walk, too jittery to read a book. He wanted noon to come  _ now _ . He wanted more than anything to see Kamal.

Maybe… he should try to sleep a little bit more.

He realized just how tired he was on the walk up to his bedroom. His legs felt like they were made of lead, his arms sacks of mulch. More sleep was a good idea. He didn’t want to be like this when he met Kamal.

Closing his eyes was a test of bravery once again. But he did it with the knowledge that he was pursuing closure. Closure would be coming soon, he told himself, and he would never have to fear sleep again.

***

Boris woke up at about 10:30 from sleep far less fitful than before. Images he was far too familiar with had lurked in his dreams, but they hadn’t stolen his breath from him, hadn’t further implanted in his brain. He would do his best to ignore them, he decided. No use dwelling on vague manifestations of his greatest terrors. He had an occasion to prepare for.

Boris showed up to Florian’s with his eyeliner a little bit sharper than usual, his shoes a little higher in heel. He was early by about twenty minutes, but he didn’t let that bother him. More time to pick out a table, to think about what to order, to think about the plan, to get excited about seeing Kamal. The plan weighed heavy on his mind, yes, but he forced levity with thoughts of his friend. Kamal would be here soon, and they could talk, and today would get better. He knew it would. Kamal had that effect on him.

Twenty minutes passed and the bell at the front of the little deli rang. Boris saw Kamal come inside, grinning nervously at the employees before spotting Boris at his table and joining him. “Hi! Hey! How are you? Uh, sorry I’m still in my scrubs, I didn’t have time to change before I came here…”

“Don't worry about it!” Boris’s whole demeanor lightened upon Kamal’s arrival and he had to hold himself back from flapping his arms when the other man joined him. “How is work going today?”

“Ah, it’s okay. It’s work. One of the, ah, newbies got to take care of one of my favorite patients today, so that kind of, um, kind of sucked? He’s that funny kid I told you about, the one with all the puns up his sleeve. But it’s okay, you know, I just did paperwork. It was a paperwork kind of day.” He blew out a quick breath that Boris assumed was supposed to be approximate to a laugh, though he didn’t know what was funny.”

“And Putunia?”

“She’s good. Tried to bring her glove to school today and she’s angry because I wouldn’t let her, but she’ll be okay once she gets home.” He stretched the hair tie on his wrist, looking from the wall to Boris. “She’s staying the night at Lulia and Jerafina’s tonight, with Tim Tam. They’ve, hah, they’ve gotten really close.”

“A dynamic duo, I imagine.”

“Oh, for sure. Destructive as hell, too, especially when they’re hanging out with Millie. But I think Lulia and Jerafina can handle them.”

Boris nodded and wracked his brain for questions that could fill the silence. “Um… how is life aside from that…?”

Kamal met Boris’s gaze. “Boris, I only have an hour for lunch,” he said softly. “Do you want to talk about the plan?”

Boris visibly sank. “Can… can we at least order food first?”

“Yeah.” Kamal shifted a little. “Here, I can go to the counter--”

“No, no, I know you hate going up there.” Boris was already out of his seat, wiggling his hands a little by his sides. “You want your regular order?”

“I… Yeah, okay,” Kamal said, slowly settling back into a comfortable position. “Thanks.”

The orders were made. The food was brought out. The conversation began.

“I just…” Boris stared into a leaf of lettuce that was escaping from the edges of his sandwich. “I get afraid that I won't know what to say when I see him. I mean… I've been working in therapy about how to work through my frustration and anxiety, but I don’t know how to do that when he’s… right there.” He took a tiny bite of a chip on his plate, navigating it through his mouth so it didn’t get caught in the gaps between some of his teeth. “I need to know exactly what the right thing to say will be. So I don't mess it up, so I can get closure.”

Kamal swallowed the bit of sandwich he had been chewing and looked up at Boris. “I… Not to, uhm, invalidate you, or anything, but… maybe this isn’t as black-and-white as you’re thinking it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… Well. We… don’t know exactly what will happen when we get there, yeah?” Kamal pushed some hair from his face. “Maybe it’s better to go with a vague idea and not necessarily have to script the whole thing out.”

Boris shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his food. “It… makes me feel a lot better to at least have something.” His eyes wandered toward Kamal, but caught on his shoulder before they could reach his face. “Even just a few sentences to open with. It helps me from getting overwhelmed.”

Kamal kept his eyes on Boris before nodding slowly. “All right.” He smiled a little, and Boris saw that from the corner of his eye, and it reassured him. “Well, um… I guess we both know I’m not the best with, ah, with confrontation, so… maybe we could do something like we did with Tiff and Mirphy yesterday?”

Boris’s eyes managed to find Kamal’s. “Explain?”

“Like… I’m sure everyone would like to help out. The other Habiticians, I mean.” Kamal took a fry from his plate. “Would it feel better to have a couple of other opinions to help make the plan?”

Boris took a moment to consider before feeling his hands begin to involuntarily wiggle and flap. That was an answer in and of itself. “That sounds great!” He beamed, his anxiety beginning to fade at the knowledge that he might not have to be as alone as he’d imagined. “Good idea!”

Kamal’s eyebrows lifted, seemingly surprised that he had come up with an idea that was actually good. “Oh! Ah, I’m glad you like the idea!”

“I do!” Boris offered an affirmative nod, his hair bouncing with the movement. “I can call some people after I get home?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kamal’s face softened a little and he glanced at his food. “Let’s, ah… Hah, we should probably actually eat before my break ends…” He let out a small, breathy laugh through his nose. “Before I’ve got to go back to my normal boss.”

Boris allowed himself a chuckle at that. “I wish your break did not have to end.”

Kamal’s eyes flicked upward to rest on Boris’s. The quiet eye contact lasted just a few seconds, but that was enough time for Boris to notice how hot he felt from the neck up.

“Me too,” Kamal said.

The quiet persisted for just another moment before being ruptured by an awkward chuckle, first from Kamal, then coming from Boris as well. The tension broke near-instantly and the two men went back to their food. The energy returned to what it had been at the beginning. They wouldn’t dwell on the blips in conversation. Not now. Now wasn’t the time.

Eventually the food was finished and Kamal’s time was up. Kamal drove Boris back to his house, even though it was a little bit out of his way. As soon as Boris was back inside his own home, he made a beeline for the telephone in the kitchen, reaching into a drawer and patting around until he found his address book. The idea was set in motion. It wouldn’t get done if it didn’t get done now.

***

When Kamal’s car pulled up in front of Boris’s house, Boris was already outside. He had been gardening for about an hour at that point. He’d restricted himself to the shade to keep sweatiness to a minimum, but that didn’t stop him from wearing the floppy sun-hat he liked to wear when it was bright out. He straightened as he saw the car coming down the street, bouncing on his toes as he pulled off his gardening gloves and grabbed the notebook he had brought outside with him as he hurried down the hill. He paused outside the car to stomp the mud off of his shoes before squeezing himself through the passenger side door.

Boris was met with two exclamations as he got in, one being “Boris!” and the other being “DOC!”. He lit up at the pair of greetings, beaming at Kamal in the drivers’ seat before turning to the back seat of the car to see Putunia. Her glove, a newer and redder one than the last, adorned one of her hands, and her red mask covered her face to a point where Boris couldn’t pinpoint her expression.

“Putunia!” Boris said, waving to her from where he sat. “How are you? You've grown since I last saw you!”

“Ka-PUNCH!” was Putunia’s response, followed by a swinging gloved fist that Boris flinched back just in time to get away from.

“He- _ ey _ ,” Kamal said from the front, “I told you, Boris is on the no ka-punching list.” His eyes darted over to Boris, but Boris betrayed no signs of the tiny fist bringing on a flashback, and he turned back to the front.

“Sorr- _ yyy. _ ” Putunia pouted at being reprimanded, but she pulled her fist back nonetheless and looked at Boris. “Do ya like my new glove?”

“I  _ glove _ it!” Boris said, giggling at his own joke as Putunia started to laugh as well. He turned back to face Kamal, his face bright and eager. “I made some calls.”

Kamal was chuckling at the pun as well. “Who’d--hah, who’d you call?”

“Well-ll-ll…” Boris adjusted his sun-hat and leaned a little toward the window. “I called the Flower Kid first… What was their real name again? I'm so used to calling them Flower Kid.”

“You mean Aspen?”

“Yes! Aspen. I called them, told them one hum for yes and two for no, asked if they could talk today, they said no, I asked about tomorrow, they said yes!” He smiled, satisfied. “So that's tomorrow.”

“Oh, nice! It’ll be good to see them, I miss them.” Kamal’s gaze was fixed on a stray curl that fell across Boris’s face. “Did you, ah… call anybody else…?”

“Oh! Yes!” Boris grinned and turned to meet Kamal’s gaze. “Everyone else is available today!”

Kamal paused. “...Everyone else?”

“Yes! Well, except for Tiff and Mirphy, since we already talked to them.”

Kamal looked very much like he had just been told that his house was haunted. “...When you say everyone, ah… you, you mean everyone?”

“Yeeee-eees…?”

Kamal took a moment’s pause, swallowed, and looked at the clock in his car. “Well--it’s already four o’clock, I guess that means we’ll have to get going…!” He let out a breathless laugh. “I…” His voice softened a little. “You’re, ah, a very interesting man, Boris.”

Boris pushed the stray curl from his face. “Thank you.”

The car started. A tape started in the tape deck--The Cranberries, Boris recognized, which was met with a “YEAH!” from Putunia. The wheels turned. The journey re-began, as it had many times in the past couple of days, and would continue to re-begin in the days to come.

***

“Hmmm…” Lulia leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps something… that denotes poetic justice, if you know what I mean?” Her doe-like eyes met Boris’s and she crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands together on the table. “Something that shows him that you made it through in one piece, despite his trying to break you apart.”

“...Literally?”

Lulia smiled softly. “And metaphorically. Maybe a metaphor would be the best thing to try here.”

“Mmmmm…” Jerafina came in from the kitchen, leaning an arm across Lulia’s shoulders as she approached the table. “Too floweryyy, babe. You’ve gotta be reeeeal straightforward about stuff like this.”

“Says the English teacher,” Lulia chuckled.

Jerafina kissed Lulia on the forehead before looking up at Boris. “You’ve gotta be straiiiiight-up, or he won’t understand how much he fucked up.” She grinned. “Just tell the guy to fuuuuuuuck oooooooff. No room for interpretation. Just fuuuuuuuuck ooooooooff.” Her gaze turned to the hallway. “Heyyy, Trevor, can you get Tim Tam and Putunia so you all can help make dinner?”

“Sure!” came a call from the hallway.

“Really, though,” Lulia said. “This all has to come from inside of you. Perhaps fate will pull you to forgive him, perhaps it will not.”

“Orrrrr you could just…” Jerafina stuck up her middle finger. “Give him one of theeeeeeese.”

There was a rustling of footsteps in the hallway, and Trevor burst into the room with Tim Tam and Putunia on his heels. “What are we talking about?”

Kamal tried to speak, but Boris beat him to it. “We want to figure out what I should say when I see someone who was very mean to me again.”

Trevor paused, staring as though he hadn’t realized Boris was there. “Uh…” He shook off the incredulity and curled his hands into fists. “I say you fight him! Challenge the guy to a one-on-one duel!”

“Take his ribs,” Tim Tam added.

“Ka-PUNCH him!” said Putunia, triumphantly thrusting her fist in the air.

“Now, now, let’s not advocate for violence at the dinner table,” Lulia said, getting to her feet and turning to look sympathetically at Boris. “Good luck.”

Boris glanced over at Kamal, then at Lulia, then at the notes he had scribbled in his notebook. “Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.

***

“You ought to be honest with him about your pain. Brutally so. Transparency is key in situations such as these.”

Trencil’s gardening hat didn’t quite match Boris’s, but the rims were the same floppy length, and Boris found some comfort in watching Trencil’s hat move as he gardened. The sun hadn’t quite set at that point, so they stood in the shade, watching Trencil carefully dig a hole for a snapdragon plant with a trowel that his face didn’t reflect in. Nat sat on the back porch, pretending to read a book as she watched and listened.

“What, ah, what exactly do you mean by ‘transparency’?” asked Kamal, who had his arm leaned against a tall fence that enclosed the yard.

“Well, full disclosure. Spare no detail of what you were put through.” Trencil’s eyes did not leave the soil. “Now, I’m not telling you to force any guilt, but… Well, he ought to understand the consequences of his behavior, yes?”

“Dad,” Nat called from the porch, “you’re being weird. You’ve got to make it seem like you don’t give a shit. Like you’re living your life just fine without any of his bull.” She turned a page in her book. “That stuff drives them crazy.”

Boris wrote their words down in his book. When he looked up, Trencil had stopped digging, now just focusing intensely on the hole he had created. Nat’s gaze flickered to her father for just a moment, but she returned to reading almost immediately, only the slight frown on her face betraying regret.

***

Getting into the dorms was more of a hassle than it was worth without keycards, but as soon as Gillis realized who it was at the door, he was downstairs and letting Boris and Kamal in with an apologetic smile. The room he led them to was cramped and smelled vaguely of brine, but neither Kamal nor Boris said anything. Randy was sitting on his bed when they came in, and he waved from his perch as Kamal explained the situation.

“Well,” Gillis said, “Why don’t you show him that you can punch back now?” He held Maynard as he said it, a visual contradiction that was not lost on Boris. “I mean, if you’re, uh… If you’re comfortable with that, I guess, it would be a good way to really show him that you’ve gotten tough now and he can’t hurt you again.”

“If I may cut in…” Randy leaned down from his place on the lofted bed. “Perhaps a more Shakespearean route to justice would be appropriate?”

“Randy, just because you’re a theatre major--”

“Hear me out, Gillis, dear.” Randy turned to face Boris and Kamal, oblivious to the flustered expression he’d impressed upon his roommate. “I have a book, yes, of some of the greatest and most heinous insults known to man, dubbed by the greatest poet of our time! And, if you truly feel you need it, it is yours to borrow for the duration of your expedition. There are some true gems within.” He leaned off the side of his bed to rummage in his backpack before producing a book of Shakespearean insults and handing it to Boris. “Care for it well, tall and mighty dentist.”

Boris took the book with him. It smelled strongly of pickle juice.

***

“Welllll,” Dallas said, “you’ve gotta, like, make sure he knows you’ve let it all go, man.” He took another look at his painting, squinting and turning his head to the side, as if he was trying to mentally flip the canvas. “Like… holding onto stuff like that is nooooot healthy.”

“That’s, ah, kinda what we’re trying to do here,” Kamal said, his eyes wandering across the art-adorned walls of the apartment. “Like… Find closure and all, by confronting the past. Right, Boris?”

Boris nodded. “Yes.”

Dallas leaned back, studying his canvas further, before looking over at Kamal and Boris. “Well, I mean… Is a case ever really closed, man?” He turned back to his canvas, picking up his pallette and going back to squinting. “I’d say you’ve just gotta be chill but firm, man. Liiiiiike… you don’t own me anymore, asshole, something like that.” He paused and glanced over at the others again. “Dude, do you want me to make some, like, really shitty art you can give him as a fuck-you present?”

Boris forced a small grin. “I… don't think that will be necessary.”

Dallas shrugged and dabbed some paint on the canvas. “Suit yourself, man.”

***

Borbra reached her arm over to where Rice Pilaf was perched and, upon his settling on her arm, held him out to Boris. “Wanna hold ‘im?”

Kamal shrank away at the owl’s wide, perpetually unblinking eyes, but Boris gently reached out his arm and allowed Rice Pilaf to stand on him. The talons dug into his skin, but he didn’t mind. The owl stared deep into his soul, it seemed. It was almost comforting, feeling so known by a creature so different from himself.

“Uh…” Kamal shook his head and looked back to Borbra and Questionette. “So… any suggestions, or…?”

Borbra nodded and looked at her girlfriend before making eye contact with Kamal. “Well, I say it’s like burd-watching.”

Questionette giggled. “ _ Tout est comme  _ ‘burd-watching’  _ pour vous, mon amour. _ ”

“Aw, stop teasin’,” Borbra said with a chuckle. “But any-way. It’s like burd-watching, ‘cause it’s intuitive. You can’t decide, ‘Today I’m gonna see a heron, or a crow, or a y’owl’. You gotta wait for the burds to find YOU first.” She leaned back, satisfied with her answer. “What d’ya think, Rice Pilaf?”

Rice Pilaf let out a soft hoot. Boris had to be torn away from the y’owl when he and Kamal left.

***

“Oh, it’s noble that you’re tryin’ it at all, I says,” Ronbo said through a cigarette, sniffing as he did so. “You’re brave for that, confrontin’ your past and all. I couldn’t do it. Not me. It’s all just too damn serious. Why, I’d fall to bits in a second!”

Boris shifted and looked down at his notes. “Do… Do you have any ideas…?”

“Oh, what I would do for the chance,” Ronbo said. He leaned his back against the closed door, gazing into the distance. “Well… All I can tell you is to be true, and honest, and if it’s too much, walk aways. You can’t exhaust yourself like that. Hnk.” He gave Boris a knowing look. “Won’t do you any good in the end. Trust me.”

Kamal swallowed. “Hey, um… If you’re thinking of going to therapy, we know, ah, we know some good--”

“Oh, thanks you, but no thanks you,” Ronbo said with a quavering smile. “Too serious for me. Not quite my style. I’m doing okay as I am, I think.” His blue eyes rested in the middle-distance, gazing at something Boris couldn’t see. “Such is the life of a clown. Someday, you’ll understand.”

***

Jimothan put down his towel and took another sip of his root beer. “I say you just tell the man he’s a damn lunatic. That’ll get some sense in him.”

“Dad,” Parsley said from his seat at the bar, “I don’t think that’s really, ah, what they’re looking for.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jimothan said. “Well, there really isn’t any more to it, is there? You tell the man what’s up, maybe you talk to him about it, maybe he realizes his mistakes, maybe he doesn’t, you call him a lunatic, you walk off.” He put the bottle down and headed back toward the kitchen, abandoning the bar for just a moment. “It’s as simple as that.”

Parsley sighed and turned to face Kamal and Boris. “For the record, um… I think, maybe, just talking would be a better option… I mean, it’s good that you’re already doing that, you know, instead of just ignoring it all until you can’t stand it any longer.” He cleared his throat. “Proactivity.”

Boris smiled weakly. “Proactivity.”

Parsley grunted and looked at his drink, wrapping his hand around it but not actually drinking anything. “I think that… Well, at this point, you’ve just gotta lay the truth on. No point hiding anymore. Tell the man everything and then tell him you’re done.” He mustered a little laugh. “And if he decides to, hah, retaliate… you’ve got, um, a lawyer.”

Kamal let out a soft chuckle. Boris tried to laugh with him, but no sound came out.

Jimothan returned from the kitchen with his arms full of plates. He placed one down in front of Boris and the other in front of Kamal. While the food was shaped vaguely like pasta, upon closer inspection it appeared to be a mass of shoelaces soaked in a lemon sauce that may or may not have actually been floor cleaner.

“You boys hungry?” Jimothan asked. “House special, on the house.”

***

“It’s not somethin’ you can do in a day, boys,” Marv said from his seat on the dock behind his house. “You gotta be patient with stuff like closure. It’s like catchin’ a long-mouth snapper. You can’t be lookin’ for it, or it won’t find ya.”

“That doesn’t make  _ any _ sense,” said a young voice from the house. Boris turned to face the young boy, who was looking up at him with only a trace of fear in his obscured eyes.

“Young man,” Marv said, “I  _ think _ it is past your bedtime, y’hear?”

Gerry stuck his tongue out, but trudged off to bed nonetheless.

“Any-ways. Where was I?” Marv turned his attention back to the water and the fishing pole in his hand. “Ah! Yeah! The long-mouthed snapper. That’s a shy fish, y’see. Can only be caught if you’re not lookin’ fer it. Closure’s kinda like that. And the blue saltwater trout, too. That one’s elusive. That one don’t bite, no sir, not but once in a blue moon…”

Marv continued on for a while, at first about closure and patience, but eventually he was only talking about fish. Kamal looked up at Boris and nudged his hand to ask if it was time to leave. Boris responded with a small nod. Marv didn’t seem to notice that they were gone.

***

“I didn’t call him, though,” Boris whispered, his hands thrust deep into his pockets so they wouldn’t shake visibly. “Is this a good idea?”

“Boris, it’s gonna be fine,” Kamal reassured. “I promise. Even though you didn’t call, I know it’s going to be okay. Here, I’ll knock.”

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

A pause. An eye close on the peephole. A sigh. A turning of the lock. An open door. Wallus Breadbear.

“...Hello, Wallus.”

Wallus stared at Boris for a long moment, then turned his gaze to Kamal. “What’s going on?”

Kamal cleared his throat. “Hey, ah, Wallus, it’s been a while.”

Wallus tried to smile, but it didn’t take. “Hey, Kamal.” He looked back to Boris, visibly shrinking away as he did so. “What’s going on?”

Boris blinked hard, then looked down at his notebook. “I…” He swallowed, but his anxiety did not go down with the motion. “I am trying to find closure. I’m going to see my dad again, after all the, the bad things that happened… Kamal, ah, Kamal said he told you everything that happened… And I need to figure out what to say.” He tried to look at Wallus, but it didn’t work at first, only when Boris mustered up the courage to speak again. “And I wanted to apologize. Again. For everything.”

Wallus let out a deep sigh and opened the door just a bit wider. He looked much the same as Boris remembered him, if a little more gaunt, a little less lively. “Doctor Habit, I can’t tell you what to say to your dad.”

“You can call me Boris now. If you want.”

Wallus almost laughed. “No… Feels too personal. Sorry.” He looked at Kamal again. “I… I admire what you two are doing. But I can’t help you with it.”

“Wallus…”

Wallus looked back at Boris, his lips tightening. “I… I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best. Hell, I know we all are. But… I’m not in a place where I can talk to you yet. Not even really close. So, uh…” He cleared his throat and looked at the ground. “Come back some other time. Kamal, call me soon. I miss hanging out like we used to. But I… I can’t do this. Not right now.” He nodded to the two and walked behind the door. “Sorry.”

The door closed, and Boris and Kamal were left alone in the hallway.

The sun had set at this point. Hours upon hours had gone by, and as Boris looked over his notes, he found that none of them really made sense to him. Not many of them fit together. Nothing felt exactly right.

The drive back to Boris’s house was quiet. Neither of them put in a tape. Neither of them said much until Kamal pulled into the driveway.

The car came to a stop. The keys came out. The humming of the engine faded into crickets and breezes.

“Are you okay?”

The sound of Kamal’s gentle voice shattered Boris’s defenses. He broke, crumpling in his seat, tears bursting forth in a red-faced gesture of hopelessness that buried itself behind desperate hands as he began to sob. The weight of Kamal’s arm wrapped around him slowly, hesitantly, but Boris could hardly feel it against the weight of the terror and shame that was compounding upon him, that he finally allowed himself to buckle beneath.

“I'm trying  _ so hard _ !” he said, squeezing his eyes shut to try and prevent the burning of more tears. “I try so hard to figure out how to find closure. I want more than anything just to say and do the right things, all the time, it’s exhausting! I want to learn to be good, but that's been ruined forever!” He was trembling now, shaking all over, his breath quivering inside his body. “I don't think they'll ever forgive me, and I don't deserve to be forgiven, I know that, but I’m trying. Every day, I try, and I just want to be better, I do, but… I can't be better, not until I find closure, I can't be good until then, Kamal, I can't…” He took in a long, tremulous breath. “I don't think I'm going to find it.”

“Boris?”

“I'm scared, Kamal.” Boris choked on his words. “I'm scared I won't find it, and then I can't ever be good.”

Kamal said nothing for a few long seconds, but Boris heard his breath. Steady, a little shaky, but in time with itself. Aware of itself.

“I… I think it’s good that you’re trying to be good,” Kamal started softly, his hand slowly coming to rest on the back of Boris’s shoulder. “And I think you’re doing a  _ really _ good job. You’ve, ah, you’ve already made a lot of improvements. You’re already so much better. And I love being around you. I, um, I have a really good time with you, now.” He took in another deep breath. “But… nobody is, um… really obligated to forgive you for everything that happened, you know…?”

Boris straightened a little. His watery eyes met Kamal’s. “What do you mean…?”

“I mean…” Kamal sighed and moved to gently clutch Boris’s hand in his own. “I mean that it’s so good that you’re trying to be a good person, and everyone sees that you’re trying your best, and we’re all  _ really _ thankful for it. And a lot of us have forgiven you, or are in the process. I mean… it took me a while, but I’m here, and I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad we’re here, because you and your friendship, ah, mean a lot to me. But… That forgiveness isn’t an obligation. Wallus…” He sighed and looked down. “He’s really traumatized. Like… badly. I don’t think… I don’t think you’ll get too far with him for, ah, for a while.”

Boris’s lip began to tremble again, the guilt squeezing his neck tighter than ever. “I…”

“Listen to me, though.” Kamal’s voice forced itself into steadiness, and Boris was compelled to meet his gaze. “If they can’t forgive you for what happened, you can’t let that deter you from trying. I don’t want you to have to try and be good so you can be forgiven by others, because you can’t control what other people think of you. You’ve got to try for yourself, so you can forgive yourself. So you can be happy with the person that you’ve become, and start going through life in a kinder and better way.” He gave a little smile. “And, well, I for one think you’re doing pretty amazing.”

There was a short silence, and within moments Boris was crying again. But it was good this time. The self-loathing didn’t leave, but thankfulness overwhelmed him, and he wrapped Kamal tightly in a hug.

“Thank you,” Boris whispered. Kamal’s response was to bury his face in Boris’s shoulder, not saying a word about Boris’s tears soaking into his shirt.

Kamal followed Boris inside. Boris didn’t even have to ask him if he wanted to stay the night. Kamal just knew, and for that Boris was thankful.

Drinks were poured. Soft, healing laughter was shared. A VHS tape was put on. Neither of them paid attention to it. Kamal was asleep on the couch within an hour, and Boris wasn’t far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh good HEAVENS, this was a LONG ONE!!! i worked EXTREMELY hard on this chapter and i really hope it shows. honestly, i probably could have split this chapter in two, but that would have made the whole fic ten chapters long and i am NOT changing the title just for the sake of fixing some poor planning, dhhfkjsdhdk.
> 
> anyways! a couple of notes! i decided to go ahead and have questionette just speak straight-up french because, well, it's hard to write the way she speaks in the game and she's fairly clearly coded as being french, so if that severely bothers anybody, i apologize! i also hc that pretty much all of the habitat kids (aside from nat) came from shitty families or foster care, so i wanted to go ahead and have them move in with or adopted by the other habiticians. i know that's a pretty popular headcanon, but i just wanted to point it out in case anyone was confused! and as for flower kid being named aspen, i just think it's a really pretty name! (for reference, flower kid is about 19-20 years old in this story, "kid" just being an affectionate nickname, and they're non-verbal.)
> 
> another small thing! those of you who frequent the smile for me ao3 might notice that i snuck in a reference to my darling friend @Never_Eat_Sour_Wheat 's smile for me slice-of-life series with the name of the restaurant! if you haven't read their series yet, i HIGHLY suggest you check it out. their writing is so lovely and fun to read, and the characters are all so well-characterized. 
> 
> anyways, i really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and i apologize for it being so long!!! things are gonna really heat up from here on out, thank you all so much for sticking around!!! comments and kudos are super-duper appreciated!!! :-D


	5. Step five: Be honest with yourself.

**Step five: Be honest with yourself.**

Boris woke up later than he usually did, something he could tell immediately by looking at the peachy morning light beginning to creak in through his living room windows. He woke up to the gentle sound of breath, deep and steady, and the weight of a head on his chest. Kamal.

Boris hadn’t realized until now that he had fallen asleep on the couch. He realized then, too, that he had not dreamt at all that night. He was unused to the feeling of waking up feeling steady, comfortable, safe.

Kamal’s head was resting on his chest. Boris wondered if, in Kamal’s slumber, he could hear the beating of Boris’s heart.

Boris supposed that, if he was going to let himself think about it, now ought to be a good time.

He’d loved Kamal for years. At first he had thought of it as just good-friend love, the kind of love you feel when your best friend remembers your birthday before even you do, or when you’re on the verge of tears about some beautiful boy you thought you’d forgotten about and they’re comforting you with their never-ending support and a tub of strawberry ice cream. That kind of love was safe, and he’d convinced himself for a long time that that was what it was. Healthy admiration, a normal level of attachment. But as time went on and he spent more and more time thinking about Kamal, wondering what it would be like to hold his hand, to wake up beside him, maybe even to kiss him--just to see how it felt, he told himself, just to try it, to see what it would be like--he realized that he couldn’t pass off his feelings as good-friend love for much longer. Friends, he came to realize, didn’t spend whole conversations staring at each other's hands, wondering what would happen if they just reached out and took the other person’s hand in their own.

He resolved not to think about it much. Especially after The Incident. He’d loved Kamal so much, he knew now, that he couldn’t have him around any more, he couldn’t keep him so close while he was out of his mind. He couldn’t reconcile what he was planning to do to the others with his adoration for Kamal, not then. The Incident fucked them up for a good while. Kamal didn’t speak to him for two months after the Habitat closed, not outside of the isolated wave when they happened to pass by each other in public. It took an incredibly nerve-wracking attempt from Boris to e-mail him and ask to have lunch together for them to start talking again. Kamal had been so wary at first, so uneasy, and even though they’d grown very close again in the months following that first step, Boris knew he couldn’t ruin that friendship again. He’d already messed it up once. Better to have a friend that he wished was a boyfriend than no friend at all.

Still, he wondered what Kamal’s lips would feel like on his.

Boris had kissed men before. Only two, back in medical school, and nothing serious had ever come from it, but it had happened. He’d kissed a girl once, but that felt so viscerally wrong that he resolved never to try it again. He supposed he could call himself gay after that--after all, he’d been living as a man since he came to the United States, and his unending desire to hold another man’s hand put him pretty firmly in the “gay” category. He knew Kamal was gay as well, which was probably the biggest reason that his feelings hadn’t really dwindled over the years. The fact that there was a chance, however tiny, that Kamal might someday, somehow want Boris in the same way that Boris wanted him was enough to warrant Boris’s forced repression of his feelings unsuccessful. The less he allowed himself to think of them, the stronger the feelings got. Perhaps that was retribution from the universe. Perhaps it was payback.

He was in love. Head-over-heels, topsy-turvy, all-consuming, constant-pining love.

He supposed he could let himself fantasize, just for a few minutes.

Eventually, after a long while of just laying comfortably where he was, Boris knew he had to get up. Kamal hadn’t yet stirred, so Boris gently moved him from his spot on top of his chest and lay him on the couch by himself so Boris could stand. He took the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch, lay it over Kamal’s sleeping body, and slowly made his way to the kitchen. Breakfast sounded like a good idea. He probably still had pancake mix somewhere.

The necessary tools and ingredients for a good, two-person, “I’m in love with you but I’ll never say it out loud” breakfast started to compile on the countertop. Mixing bowls. Whisk. Spoon. Measuring cups. Milk. Eggs. Bananas. Pancake mix. Frying pan. Butter. Syrup.

All the while, the phone stared at Boris. The sheet of paper Tiff had given him two days ago seemed more and more prominent every time Boris passed by it in the search for something else he needed in the cabinets.

Boris started brewing some coffee. He sliced the bananas. He measured the ingredients. He mixed together the pancake batter. He desperately tried to ignore the imposing presence on the countertop. He told himself that this could be his one quiet morning, his one morning without any terrifying steps to take. He tried so very hard to pretend that he couldn’t see the phone numbers from where he stood.

But Boris knew himself. He knew what he had to do.

He stared, let out a long and shaky breath, and picked up the phone.

***

Kamal woke up about a half-hour later, wandering toward the kitchen to find Boris flipping the last disc of batter in the pan, humming softly to himself as he arranged the pancakes he’d already finished on a large plate. Upon hearing groggy footsteps, Boris looked up from his task to see Kamal standing in the doorway, his black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that would have killed Boris on the spot had he been just a little bit weaker in heart. Boris burst into a wide smile at Kamal’s entrance, Kamal offering a sleepy grin in return.

“Good morning, ‘Sleepy-Head’!”

“Mmm, morning...” Kamal came into the kitchen, rubbing one of his still partially-closed eyes and leaning against the countertop as he eyed the spatula in Boris’s hand. “Breakfast, huh…? Oh, golly, ah, thank you for that… Have you, ah, been up long?”

“Breakfast! There’s coffee, too, over by the phone,” Boris said as he pointed in the direction of the brew. “And not too long at all, only about an hour or so!”

“Mm, you’re a lifesaver… Thank you.” 

Kamal already knew where the mugs were and he opened the cabinet above the coffee machine to retrieve some. Boris had to look away. He focused intently on flipping the last pancake, absolutely  _ not _ imagining how Kamal’s shirt might have slightly lifted as he reached up toward the mugs, and  _ definitely not _ imagining the small sliver of skin that may have been exposed with that action.

“You, ah, doing okay so far this morning…?”

Boris snapped out of his daze and turned to Kamal, taking the last pancake out of the pan and stacking it with the others. “Oh! Yes!” He beamed as he leaned forward to turn off the stove. “I already called the hotel and made a reservation for tomorrow!”

The room fell completely silent. Boris realized instantly that the energy had shifted. His eyes found Kamal, who was halfway through pouring coffee into a mug and veering rapidly toward spilling it on his hand.

“You-- _ OW! _ ” The coffee found Kamal’s hand and he flinched, putting the pot back on the counter and grabbing a paper towel to dry off his hand with. “You, ah… Tomorrow…?”

“...Yes…?”

Kamal sucked in a long breath through his teeth. “Fuck…”

“Are you okay? Do you need a cold towel?”

“No, no, I’m okay, I just…” Kamal closed his eyes and leaned against the counter. “I’m, I’m going to have to call out of work, this is VERY late-notice… I’ve gotta see if Parsley can come stay, ah, stay with Putunia, for however long we’ll be gone, I…” He pressed his face into his hands and let out a long groan. “Mmmm… I’m not mad, Boris, I’m not, ah, I promise, I just wish you’d asked f--”

“You were going to come with me?”

Kamal stopped mid-syllable and removed his face from his hands, looking up at Boris. “What?”

Boris’s brow was furrowed, his eyes squinting in a gesture of confusion. “You… You said you’d have to call out of work… But I thought you were not going to come…?”

Kamal stared for a long moment before realization showed itself on his face. “Why wouldn’t I come with you?”

“Because… It’s hard, it’s scary, it doesn't have anything to do with you and I don't want you to get stressed out over me--”

“Boris, I want to go to Russia with you.” Kamal’s voice was uncharacteristically steady. “If, ah, if it’s that scary on your own… I can only imagine it’s a bit, um, a bit less scary with a friend.”

Boris promised himself he wouldn’t cry over that. He just smiled a tight smile and whispered a “Thank you”. Kamal smiled back, and the morning continued on.

Breakfast was eaten slowly and comfortably. Boris was in no rush to finish. The conversation was easy, the atmosphere was warm, the early-morning sun shone on Kamal’s face at just the right angle. But one last conversation awaited them. The appointment with Aspen still stood, and eventually the morning would have to give way to yet another day.

***

Boris was the one to knock on the door. He’d been to Aspen’s apartment once before, a few months ago, when they still weren’t necessarily very close. Things had changed since then and they’d become more and more comfortable around each other, no longer feeling like they had to tiptoe around any sore subjects nor worrying that the other didn’t trust them. E-mails between them had become more frequent. Boris would have been excited to see them if it weren’t for the circumstances.

The door opened seconds later and there they were, dark skin and curly light hair and warm, smiling eyes. Aspen grinned when they saw the men at the door and stepped back to let their friends in, signing  _ Hello! _ as they did so.

“Hello!” Boris tried as hard as he could to seem chipper, and it worked a little bit, just enough.

“Hey, Aspen.” Kamal was more subdued, but his tone was genuine.

The two men came in and Aspen closed the door behind them. There were more flowers than Boris remembered, which was mildly shocking because the apartment had already been a miniature greenhouse the last time he had been here. A jingling sound was heard across the hall and Boris barely had the time to turn around to look before a fluffy calico cat burst into view, a cat who Boris recognized from the last time he had been here. The cat let out a long meow and jumped onto the couch, leaning her head forward, her green eyes pining for attention.

_ Kamal, have you met Blossom? _ Aspen signed.

“I, ah, I don’t think I have!” Kamal brightened at the sight of the cat and he walked over to the couch, reaching out a hand for her to sniff. “Blossom, huh…? You’re, ah, you’re a cute one, yes you are…”

Boris could have stared at Kamal cooing over Blossom for the rest of his life and not complained once, but a wave and cleared throat from Aspen caught his attention. His gaze snapped back over to the young florist, who was heading over to the living area to settle themselves in a chair near where Kamal was now kneeling.  _ How are you guys? _

“Oh, we are good! As good as we can be, at least.” Boris came over to the couch and sat beside Blossom, who immediately made her way to his lap upon his sitting down, much to Kamal’s chagrin. “How about you? Are you well?”

Aspen nodded, kicking their feet a little as they did so, before beginning to sign.  _ I’m okay! Dad and I have gotten a lot of big orders recently. We’re thinking of expanding our delivery route by a mile or so. _ They beamed and looked from Kamal to Boris.  _ What did you two want to talk about? _

Kamal got up from his kneeling position to sit on the couch beside Boris, reaching over Boris’s lap to stroke a purring Blossom. “Well…” He looked over at his tall companion. “Boris?”

Boris had been actively trying  _ not _ to dwell on the fact that his hand was brushing Kamal’s while they shared the responsibility of petting Blossom, but hearing his name brought him out of his stupor. “Hm…?”

“You want to, ah, tell Aspen about the plan?”

“Oh.” That was what this visit was about, wasn’t it? Boris cleared his throat and let his nervous eyes rest on a plant across the room, unsure of whether or not he could look straight at Aspen. For some reason, talking about it with them made it feel more real. Like there wasn’t any going back as soon as the flower kid knew.

But, despite his anxiety, he explained. The information he already had came spilling out, one tidbit after another. His father’s name, age, and location. His desire for a script. His struggles with finding one that fit. The knowledge that he would be leaving the very next morning.

Each word he said solidified itself in the air once it was out of his mouth, and Boris knew that he could no longer go back on the plan. He couldn’t cancel the reservation. He couldn’t decide to go back to how he had always lived. The deed was done now. It was all real.

Eventually Boris was finished talking. He felt the ever-familiar burning of tears in his eyes, but luckily the dam didn’t break and he was able to look over at Aspen with a dry face. Kamal gave him an encouraging nudge, and Aspen looked contemplative, processing all of the information they had just been fed. After a few long moments, their hands began to move, rapidly at first, then slowing down so that Boris and Kamal could keep up.

_ Sometimes it doesn’t really matter what you say, but more what you do. _ They leaned forward a little, trying to get on Boris’s eye level.  _ I can’t tell you what the right thing to say to your dad is. Nobody can. I know it’s hard to hear, because I like having scripts too. But you’re the only one who can come up with something like that. _

Boris sniffed, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. “But what if I get it wrong…?”

Aspen smiled gently.  _ You can’t get it wrong if you’re acting with love. _

“What do you mean?”

_ I mean… You have to remember to act out of love in a situation like this. Not necessarily love for him, but love for yourself. You’re doing this to feel better, right? _

“Mostly. I think so.”

_ Then you have to remember to put love for yourself on top. Whatever you say can come from that. _ They let out a soft breath through their nose.  _ I know that sounds confusing. But I believe in you. I think everybody does. You’re going to be okay. Promise. _

Aspen’s gaze was meaningful, and for just a moment, Boris was standing on the edge of the Habitat again, all those months ago, seeing his Lily for the first time in years. The memory of why he was pursuing this at all flashed in his mind, and he knew Aspen saw it, and he knew Kamal did too.

Within seconds, Boris was hugging Aspen as tightly as he could without hurting them. Their head rested on his shoulder, unbothered by the mess of curls that fell to cover their face. Boris’s eyes were shut and his mouth couldn’t make any sounds, not like he wanted it to, but he managed to whisper a soft “thank you”. Aspen did not speak, of course, but they squeezed Boris just a little, and he knew what that meant.

The visit went on. Boris didn’t want to leave on a ‘Boris is crying yet again’ note. Aspen asked Kamal how he was, Kamal responded with stories of his aggravatingly normal boss and funny anecdotes about learning how to raise Putunia. Boris talked horticulture with Aspen, asked them how they got their indoor cacti to look so healthy and vibrant, while Kamal played with Blossom and a ribbon he’d found in one of the crevices of the couch. Blossom kneaded her paws on Boris’s legs while Aspen animatedly signed about how they were going to see Gillis and Randy the next day, how they’d run into Jerafina at the grocery store last week, how Mirphy was coming to take photographs of the flower shop for a small advertising campaign in a few days. Time went by and Boris relaxed. He wasn’t in Russia yet. His father wasn’t in the room. Right here, right now, he was with two friends. He was safe. He was comfortable. He was happy.

When the time came to leave, Blossom had to be pried away from Boris and Kamal as they headed for the door. Kamal gave the cat one last pat on the forehead and she meowed in protest when he moved his hand away. Aspen giggled softly and took one more look at the two men, their gaze as warm and understanding as ever.  _ Thank you guys for coming by. It gets lonely here sometimes, even with a cat around. _

Kamal smiled. “We’ll just have to, ah, visit more often, then.”

_ Please do. I know Blossom would like that. _

Boris managed a smile as the cat meowed almost on cue at the mention of her name. Kamal and Aspen chuckled, and Boris supposed he should too, but something hung heavy in his mind. Something he needed to say before the visit was over.

Aspen cleared their throat to get his attention, and Boris looked up at them.  _ Is something wrong, Doc? _

Boris swallowed. “I… wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything that happened before.” He paused and pushed a hand through his thick hair. “And for never making a good apology before now. I never knew how to say it or what to do, but… I want you to know that I’m doing better. And I'm sorry. For everything.”

Aspen’s gaze softened at Boris’s words and they took a step closer to him, offering him a smile so gentle and honest that it almost felt surreal.  _ You never needed to say it out loud. You’ve already made the best kind of apology. _

“...I have…?”

_ You’re trying to be better. You are better. I still appreciate it, though. Thank you. _

Boris hugged them one more time before he left. Kamal hugged them, too.

The apartment door closed behind them, and the visit was over.

When they got into Kamal’s car, neither of the two men said anything at first. They just looked at each other, and Kamal smiled, and Boris knew that at least right now, things were okay. They could be okay, if he wanted them to be. But as Kamal began to drive, a thought began to tug at Boris’s mind. It continued, increasing in intensity with each silent second, until Boris opened his mouth to vocalize it.

“You really don’t need to come with me. I… think I’ll be okay.”

Kamal took his eyes off the road for just a second, just long enough to look at Boris, before looking back at the task at hand. “I know you’ll be okay if I don’t come,” he said. “But I… I really do want to come. I want to help in any way I can.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“How would you be hurting me?”

“You said that you would have to call out of work,” Boris said. “I don't want you to lose your job because of me.”

Kamal took in a long breath. “I… don’t think I’m going to lose, ah, my job over one late-notice weekend,” he said, though his voice was a little bit uncertain. It transitioned into certainty, though, when he continued to speak. “But even if I do… There’s other jobs out there, you know? But there’s only one Boris Habit. And if I have to pick between one and the other… I, um, I think it’s, ah, a pretty… a pretty obvious choice to me.”

There was a long pause. For a moment Boris thought he was going to cry, but the sobs didn’t come, and for that he was thankful. Tears flowed, yes, but they were quiet and grateful rather than the loud, messy ones he had accustomed himself to. Kamal glanced over at him and offered a reassuring smile, and Boris was safe. He hadn’t realized how tense his muscles were until he relaxed them and felt like he was melting.

“...Can I touch your arm?”

The car jerked slightly to the right, but Kamal quickly regained control, coughing as he did so. “I… yeah, yeah, if you want to, um… why?”

Boris glanced from Kamal’s hands on the steering wheel to his face. “Because I can't hug you when you’re driving.”

Kamal smiled and let out a soft laugh, his face seeming redder than usual in the mid-afternoon light. “I… okay. Yeah.” His tone softened. “Yeah.”

Boris’s hand came to rest lightly on Kamal’s arm. At first Kamal seemed tense, but he soon relaxed into the touch. His eyes remained on the road, but Boris’s vision wandered from the window to Kamal to the sky to Kamal to the road back to Kamal, always returning to Kamal.

The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable quiet until they reached Boris’s house. Boris got out of the car, albeit reluctantly, and when he turned to say goodbye to Kamal, his friend was already facing him. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning,” Kamal said. “For the airport.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Kamal said. “Of course.” He smiled a little smile, one that Boris especially loved, and waved. “I’ll, ah, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Boris nodded. “I’ll see you then,” he said.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss Kamal goodbye. Had he been a different person, he supposed, a braver one, a person with less self-preservation instinct, perhaps he would have. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

So he waved as Kamal left, watching his car disappear in the distance, before looking up at his garden. The replanted flowers seemed healthy. He’d chosen good homes for them. He observed for a moment, absorbing the view of what he had created, before turning and walking up the hill to the front door of his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, better late than never--chapter 5 is here and it's another long-ish chapter!!! we're officially halfway through and i'm honestly amazed at the response this fic has gotten. never in my life have i had people following my stories chapter by chapter and the fact that people are doing that with this one blows me away. thank you all so much for your amazing response to this story, it really does mean the world!!!
> 
> a few small notes about this chapter: aspen is about 19-21 years old and "kid" is more of an affectionate term than anything else. they're nonverbal as well, and despite the fact that their arms / hand have light skin in-game, my flower kid design has darker skin, so that's reflected here because... well, because i like it!
> 
> blossom is officially my favorite character now, too. if i ever write a spin-off of this story, blossom will for sure be there because i love her.
> 
> anyways, comments and kudos are as always very much appreciated, and my tumblr is winemomparker if anybody ever wants to chat (or tag me in sfm content you think i would like)!!! thank you all so very much and i hope you're having a great day!!!


	6. Step six: Take a leap of faith.

**Step six: Take a leap of faith.**

Boris had hoped that sleep would come easily to him as it had the night before, but sadly that was not the case. He woke up at his usual time, gasping for breath and clawing at his sheets, briefly terrified by something touching his arm before he realized it was just his hair. He let the terror wash over him, just for a little bit, before forcing himself into steadiness and breathing deeply. He wouldn’t dwell on it. He was leaving this morning. Closure was within his grasp and as soon as he got it, he told himself, this would all be over. He wouldn’t wake himself up with screams anymore. Today was the day he left his old life behind.

Get out of bed. Kiss your Lily. Ignore the gut-wrenching images imprinted into your brain. Put on a record you like. Start packing for the flight. Make sure you have Pabit. Don’t cry. Not yet. There will be time later for that.

He didn’t need to pack too much, he told himself. He was only staying a few days at the very most. If they couldn’t find him, they couldn’t find him. They would go home and try again. It would be okay. It would. It had to be.

He so hated to doubt his own words.

When Boris finished packing, he went to wait outside for Kamal to come and pick him up. The sun wasn’t up yet, the sky hadn’t yet begun to color itself in, but there was enough light for the stars to be rendered invisible in a sky that appeared more deep violet than black. He was almost glad, in a strange way, that he couldn’t see the stars, those same stars he was sure his father sometimes saw at night. He probably would have cried about it. Or maybe, he thought for a second, he wouldn’t have. He felt almost numb, like the past three days had been clouded by a far less happy version of laughing gas. Maybe he had run out of tears. He wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

It felt like he was on the porch for years before Kamal arrived, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his face illuminated in the pale light in a way that shoved all of Boris’s doubts and fears to the sidelines. He smiled gently at Boris from the car and waved. Boris waved back, grabbing his luggage with one hand and scooping up Pabit with the other, walking down to the car with just a little less skip in his step than usual.

Kamal was bringing two bags, both seemingly completely full. He’d done this when they were setting up the Habitat too; Boris supposed he was a chronic over-packer. He almost had it in him to chuckle, but the noise wouldn’t come out of his throat. He just put his own luggage in the trunk alongside Kamal’s and headed around to the passenger side of the car.

When he got in, Kamal’s gaze was soft, just a little bit sleepy, and so genuinely warm that Boris wanted to live in it. “Are you ready?”

Had Boris had one ounce less self-control, he would have kissed him senseless. But he knew better. “If I'm not ready now,” he said, “I don’t think I ever will be.”

Kamal smiled a little bit, which Boris mirrored. “Let’s catch this flight.”

The airport was about a forty-minute drive. For the first five minutes, Boris said nothing. He stared out the window, pensive, almost waiting for something to happen that would cancel or delay the trip. Perhaps lightning would strike a tree, hit the road, give him ten more minutes to prepare himself to get on the plane. Perhaps the flight would be delayed by a sudden storm. Perhaps he would forget himself and ask Kamal to turn back. Endless possibilities swirled in his mind and he forced himself not to say them aloud. After all, it was still so early in the trip, perhaps something would happen organically and he could find closure some other way, he wasn’t sure if he would remember how to breathe once they got to Moscow, what if it all came back, what if he got stuck there again--

“Can I, ah, tell you something funny that Putunia told me last night?”

Boris’s thoughts stopped instantly at the sound of Kamal’s voice. He turned to look at his friend, remembering the real world around him as he did so, once again becoming aware of the texture of the seat, of the weight of his coat, of the sight of Kamal’s hands on the steering wheel. He took in a breath, and the air was real, it was New York air, not Moscow air. He was here now. Kamal was here. He had time.

“...Yes,” Boris said. “What did she say?”

Kamal began to smile a little bit as he told the story. “It’s silly, but… Well, last night I asked her if she was okay with Parsley staying with her for a few days, um, while I went on a trip. And--hah, let me, um, see if I can quote her directly…” He grinned and switched his voice to a slightly higher register. “She said, ‘YEAH! I like Parsley! He fights really good AND he makes better mac and cheese than you do.’” He was already beginning to laugh when he said the next sentence. “And she, she was kind of quiet for a second, wasn’t even looking at me, she was putting on her mask in the, ah, in the mirror, and then she just said, ‘I still love you, though.’” He chuckled, his eyes briefly catching Boris’s before fixing themselves on the road again.

Boris was smiling now, too, just a little. Just enough. “That's sweet of her to say.”

“Oh, I haven’t even told you the best part.” Kamal’s enthusiasm seemed almost uncharacteristic of him, but the story continued and Boris didn’t have time to wonder about it. “So of course now I’m wondering, what the  _ hell _ does Parsley do to his mac and cheese that I don’t? So I call him again, second time that night, and I ask him, I say ‘Hey, I know I just called about Putunia, but now, ah, she’s saying you make better mac and cheese than I do, and I’m not jealous, but I need to know your secret.’ And you want to know what law boy said to me?”

“What?”

“He said he adds in one Kraft single, a pinch of garlic powder, and  _ fucking ketchup _ .” Kamal made a gagging noise before breaking into incredulous giggling. “I mean, I guess he learned from his dad, but what the  _ hell _ ? And Putunia thinks it’s  _ better _ than mine?” His laughter made it obvious that no true bitterness was to be found in his words, and his eyes caught Boris’s once more. His deep brown eyes implored Boris to relax, just a little bit, to allow himself to laugh.  _ Smile for me _ , they said,  _ please _ .

Boris did laugh. He was amazed that he could. It was a soft chuckle, but it was genuine, and followed with his remarking “Maybe you should try it sometime. He might be onto something.”

The tension in the car dissipated almost completely and both Kamal and Boris burst into giggles. “I trust Parsley, but I am  _ not _ going to do that,” Kamal said, his eyes moving from Boris back to the road, satisfied with his effect. “If Putunia enjoys it, she can go nuts, but as good a friend as Parsley is I can’t, ah, I can’t say I’ll ever trust his cooking after he told me that.”

Boris laughed again, his eyes resting on Kamal. It was more Kamal’s smile that provided levity than the story, but Boris was thankful for it anyhow. He was glad Kamal was coming with him, really glad. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, even in silence, he was terrified of what could have transpired had he gone to Russia alone.

The rest of the drive was lighter. Boris hardly thought of ways the trip could be delayed or cancelled, and when he did, he just looked at Kamal and made himself remember why they were going. The fears never dissipated wholly, but they were quieted by Kamal’s voice, by the humming of the engine, by the gentle rain that had begun outside.

The airport, thankfully, wasn’t too badly crowded when they got there. The tickets were purchased. The bags were checked. Pabit was still safely by Boris’s side. Boris wondered if he should have gotten his own ticket, but decided that the airport staff wouldn’t care if he didn’t. He supposed Pabit counted as carry-on, no matter how alive he sometimes seemed to Boris.

Kamal was uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way to the gate. They had about fifteen minutes before boarding would begin, so they sat down, Kamal clearing his throat as he did so. Boris mindlessly toyed with one of Pabit’s hands for a long moment, but Kamal’s silence eventually pushed him to ask a question. “Are you okay?”

Kamal’s hands were trembling. “Yeah.”

“Your hands.”

Kamal swallowed and looked at his hands, as though he had just realized how shaky they were. “...I, ah, probably should have told you this beforehand.”

“Told me what?” Boris tipped his head to the side, inquisitive.

“I have… Um. I have… really bad flight anxiety.” Kamal forced a short laugh. “And I, uh, I left my pills in one of my bags. Which was stupid of me, I should have kept them in my pocket or something, because I  _ knew _ something like this was gonna happen, I just… Didn’t have the foresight for that, I guess?” He swallowed and looked down at his shoes. “And I, I didn’t do one of my rituals this morning, I didn’t finish my second mouthwash because I was scared about being late, and I tried to tell myself that it would be fine if I, if I didn’t do it today, nothing was going to happen, but now that’s just kind of making everything worse because I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering if that means something bad is going to happen now, even though I  _ know _ that’s irrational, I just…” He trailed off and blinked hard, as if trying to ground himself again. “Sorry. I get all… You’ve seen me like this before, you know I lose track of reality and all’a that.”

For a long moment Boris was quiet, weighing the things he could say and the likelihood of any of them making it worse. But, somehow, something came from his mouth that he didn’t have time to think about. “Do you… want to hold my hand? to ground you a little?”

Kamal didn’t look directly at Boris, but his eyes wandered to focus on Boris’s hands. “...That might help,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

Boris took Kamal’s hand in his own. It was cold and shaking, but it fit right in Boris’s long palm. “Of course,” he said.

After a long few seconds of silence, Kamal spoke again. “Can we talk about something? Something different? So I… so I’m not freaking out when we get on the plane?”

“I… Yes.” Boris nodded and thought for a long moment before opening his mouth with the best thing that came to mind. “I'm thinking of getting a cat.”

Kamal looked up from their joined hands. “Was… ah, was this decision influenced by a certain apartment-dwelling calico?”

Boris chuckled softly. “Maybe a little bit. It would be nice to have the company, you know?”

“I hope you know I’ll never leave your house if you get a cat.”

“I would not mind that at all.”

Boarding began and the conversation turned from being about cats to being about gardening, then horticulture classes, then a funny anecdote from Kamal’s medical school memories, to a related anecdote from Boris’s. Tickets were keyed in. The seats were taken. The flight began. Neither Boris nor Kamal let go of the other’s hand.

The flight itself was fairly uneventful, which surprised Boris considering its ten-hour duration. Aside from Kamal’s occasional squeak of fright at some sudden turbulence or Boris’s occasional surge of existential dread that he did his best to ignore, little of note took place on the actual flight. Hands remained entwined until they became sweaty, in which case the two of them settled for a hand on an arm or a head on a shoulder. Boris occasionally took Pabit out and fiddled with him, earning a “Whoa, that’s cool!” from the kid sitting across the aisle. Pabit would have smiled at the compliment had he had the muscles for it, but he and Boris both settled on a “ _ Thamk-you! :-) _ ” and a chance for the kid to shake Pabit’s hand. Eventually, as the flight carried on later and longer, Kamal’s voice faded into steady breathing and he fell asleep on Boris’s shoulder, his anxiety temporarily dormant. It took all Boris had not to play with his hair as he slept.

After a flight that seemed to take an eternity and a half, they finally landed in the Moscow airport. Boris nudged Kamal awake, gesturing to the plane’s window when Kamal opened his eyes. “We are here,” he said, and Kamal offered him a sleepy little smile. Nothing bad had happened to them. They were here. They were safe.

It was already 11 o’clock at night in Moscow when they arrived, but finding a cab wasn’t as hard as they’d expected. Boris spoke in Russian to the driver, giving him the address of the hotel, and was almost surprised that he still remembered his native language after nineteen years of speaking almost exclusively English. He knew it was silly to worry that he wouldn’t remember, but something inside of him was still surprised, just a little bit, at how easily it came from his mouth.

The city had changed since Boris had last been there. He was struck by how much lighter the night was than it used to be, illuminated by streetlights and tall buildings, so much so that he could not see the stars. As soon as they were driving through the city, memories hit Boris so strongly that he felt he would have fallen over had he been standing up. He nudged Kamal, pointing out the window.

“That's where my father worked,” he said, his eyes following a building that looked older than the others, almost a little out of place. “It used to look more modern, I think.”

“Maybe it was, back then,” Kamal said, looking from the building to Boris. “Has it changed much? The city?

Boris didn’t see Kamal looking at him. He only saw people and streets and buildings and lights. “Yes, in some ways,” he said. “But in others… not really at all.”

“Are you okay?”

Boris nodded slightly before perking up and pointing at another building. “That used to be a grocery store,” he said, “and I always liked their apples, back when it was easy to eat them without cutting them up. And that…” He pointed to the building beside it. “was a doctor’s office. I spent a lot of time there. They always had a dog in the waiting room, a really good one.” He smiled at the memory. “I liked to pet her whenever I was there.”

Boris didn’t see Kamal gazing at him, nor did he see the look in Kamal’s brown eyes. But he saw the streets, the lights, the newness and oldness of it all, and somehow, he almost felt happy.

They reached the hotel at about half past eleven. Now that the drive through the city was over, Boris realized just how exhausted he was. He looked over at Kamal, at the sleepiness of Kamal’s eyes, and concluded that he must feel the same. They got their bags, Boris tipped the driver, and they headed toward the hotel doors.

Check in. Get your key. Make sure Pabit is there. Head up in the elevator. Open the door.

The room was nicer than anticipated, though Boris supposed he should have expected that since the recommendation was from Tiff in reference to an international tour. The walls were dark blue, the carpet was beige, the chairs were brown. The bed was white, sitting a little off to the left, and behind it there was a painting of—

There was only one bed.

Boris and Kamal seemed to realize it at the same time. A rush of thoughts hit Boris—damn it, he’d only booked a room for one, hadn’t he, oh this probably looked SO suspicious to the front desk clerk, he wondered what Kamal was thinking, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught himself and changed the reservation—

“I’ll take the floor. Um, or one of the chairs. If you want me to.”

Boris turned to look at Kamal, whose face was beet red. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, his eyes focused intently on the foot of the bed. His hair was still pulled back in that messy ponytail, his shirt a little askew on his shoulders.  _ Fuck _ , he was beautiful. Something about the quiet, the dim lighting of the hotel room, the sleepiness that was overtaking him, something about it all made Boris just want to—

“No, no, it's okay,” Boris said, cutting off his own inner monologue. “I can take the floor, or a chair, or…” He considered the bed for a long moment, blinking in the low light. “I… It's a king-sized bed, maybe we could…”

Kamal cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Yeah, um, I mean, uh, if you’re comfortable…”

“I don't want to make you un-comfy—“

“No, no, you’re fine, don’t worry, I… We can share. It’s okay.” Kamal swallowed and looked up at Boris, giving him an anxious smile. “Um… Well, I’m, ah, I’m beat, personally, so I’m just gonna…”

“Oh! Oh, yes, um… You can, you can take the bathroom first if you want, I can change out here.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks. Um, thank you.” Kamal knelt on the floor and opened one of his bags, his face still radiating heat. “...Boris?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Boris looked down at Kamal. “For…?”

“Just…” Kamal shrugged and toyed with the sleeve of a shirt in his bag. “Being a good friend, and listening, and being there and helping me out on the plane and… Yeah.” He let out a long breath and pushed some stray hair from his face before taking his hair tie out, letting his hair down. “You’re a good guy, Boris.”

Boris stared, Kamal’s words moving through his mind slowly, harder to process since they were kind. “...You’re a good guy too, Kamal,” he said softly. “A really good guy.”

Kamal smiled and looked up at Boris. “...Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Boris smiled back. A little wobbly, yes, but genuine.

Clothes were changed. Teeth were brushed. Showers could wait for the morning. The lights were turned off. Boris and Kamal found themselves in the same bed, inches apart, neither closing their eyes just yet.

“Goodnight,” Boris murmured, forcing himself not to look over at Kamal.

“Goodnight,” Kamal whispered in return. “Goodnight.”

Things were quiet after that, at least they were at first. Boris kept his eyes on the ceiling, or at least what he could see of it in the dark. He was here, he realized, seemingly for the first time. He was in Russia. Tomorrow they were going to his old house. Tomorrow, he said to himself, he might see his father.

Jesus fuck, tomorrow he might see his father.

He’d come such a long way, he’d gone through so much just in a few days, and in the morning maybe he would go to the house and find his father and it would be done, he would have closure. But… Boris couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he wasn’t there. Had he moved, maybe? Was he in a different city altogether? Would he even recognize Boris after years of self-administered testosterone?

What if he was dead?

“...Kamal?”

A sleepy grunt. “Yeah?”

“...What if my father is dead…?”

Kamal turned on his side to face Boris, his dark hair falling a little into his face. “...Are you nervous about that?”

Boris sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the ever-present tears that had crept into his eyes. “I…” His eyes opened to stare at the ceiling again. “If… If he isn’t even here anymore… Why did we come? What if he is alive, but I see him and I can’t think of what to say…? I just… all that time wasted, you know…?” The tears began coming out, silent, but visible, tangible. “I’m… He’s just going to call me a stupid little girl, a dumb brat, I know it, Kamal, I just, I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

“Boris…”

“I’m so fucking scared, Kamal.” Boris swallowed and blinked hard, the tears coming out seemingly even harder now. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

There was a long pause, but moments later, Kamal’s hand moved to gently rest on Boris’s shoulder, trembling only a little on its way. “We… We don’t need to worry about that right now, okay? I mean…” He took in a breath, glancing at the sheets before looking back up at his companion. “If he is dead, I still don’t think we wasted any time by coming here. This is a process, Boris, healing is a process. And if he’s alive… I know it’s going to be hard to see him, but… You’re strong enough to do it.” He scooted himself a little closer, forgetting himself to brush a tear from Boris’s cheek. “You already came all this way. I think… I think that no matter what happens now… you’re going to be okay. And… I’ll be there too, you know. No matter what happens. You aren’t here alone.”

Boris took in a shuddering breath, letting out one soft sob, before biting down on his lip and squeezing his fists. He slowly pulled himself from his panic and began to notice the world again.  _ Ground yourself, Boris, _ he thought. The air around him felt warm, and it wasn’t until a moment or two later that he realized how close Kamal was. The awareness of his surroundings crept up through his own body, and he realized that the gentle pressure on his cheek was Kamal’s hand. 

_ Oh, God. _

Boris slowly turned his head, looking through the dark, and there he was. Hell, even in the unlit room, Kamal was beautiful. There was just enough light for Boris to make out his eyes, his nose, his slightly-parted lips… a strand of hair, loose, falling over his face, obscuring bits of skin. Boris’s fists loosened and he found his arm engaged in a reflexive movement, one he was almost not consciously aware of. His gesture mirrored Kamal’s, gently brushing the hair out of his face and tucking it back. His eyes tracked Kamal’s face before resting on his gaze, interlocking with it, deepening the eye contact that Boris so hated when it was with other people but so craved with Kamal.

God, he was so close.

Boris didn’t even try to catch his self-control as it left him, rising into the air and slipping underneath the locked door. He couldn’t tell whether he or Kamal leaned in first, but he knew that within seconds his lips were on Kamal’s, and his eyes were closed, and Kamal wasn’t moving away. It was a small kiss at first, a tentative brushing of lips, but as soon as it ended a new one began, this one deeper, hungrier, filled with the pent-up desire of several years and overflowing into closer touches, free hands pressed to backs, breaths hastily taken in gasps before coming back into contact. The longing was tangible to both parties, neither wanting to untangle from the other, neither making any move to end the embrace. This had taken far too long to come. One kiss wasn’t enough to make up for lost time, but they could try. God damnit, they could try.

Kisses gave way to more kisses, which gave way to smaller kisses, which gave way to foreheads pressed together and hands on backs and sides and tiny smiles that grew as they realized their reciprocation. Boris let out the first soft, incredulous giggle, which was met with a matching one from Kamal. Their eyes met, soft through the dark. Neither said anything. They didn’t need to.

Sleep found Boris easily after that. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to find his father tomorrow. He wasn’t sure if he would ever truly be ready. But at least there was a little less pressure on his mind now, a little less anxiety. He was safe here. Kamal buried his face in Boris’s chest, and the sleep that night was dark and unbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO incredibly sorry for the late-night update, but here she is!!! this one was a major struggle to write, and i’m honestly not incredibly proud of it, but i worked extremely hard on it and i really hope you all enjoy. i don’t really have much to say in this chapters notes, except that the next chapter is going to be INTENSE, so here’s a little fluff to prepare you all for the craziness that’s coming at you next time!!!
> 
> comments and kudos are, as always, SUPER appreciated!!! my tumblr is winemomparker if anyone ever wants to talk, thank you so incredibly much for reading!!! :-D


	7. Step seven: Remember why you're here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of physical and verbal child abuse, a graphic depiction of a flashback, and usage of homophobic slurs.

**Step seven: Remember why you’re here.**

When the morning came, Boris was again the first to wake up. For a moment he didn’t quite remember where he was, wondered what the warmth pressed against him could possibly be, but he realized who it was as soon as he managed to crack open his eyes. Kamal was still sleeping, taking deep and steady breaths, his back pressed into Boris’s body. Boris’s arm was around him and his chin was pressed to the top of Kamal’s head, nestling Kamal’s sleeping body close. Boris could have sworn he felt Kamal’s heartbeat through his skin, emanating through to his own heart, however cliché that sounded.

They’d kissed last night, hadn’t they?

The memory crashed over Boris like a wave and suddenly all of last night’s sensations came back to him, more coherent now that he wasn’t half-asleep. Kamal’s lips were soft, almost as soft as he’d imagined, and he kissed less shyly than Boris had thought; perhaps that was just an effect of sleepiness, but either way, Boris liked it. He liked the way Kamal held him close but gentle, like he didn’t want to break him or scare him off. He liked the softness he’d seen in Kamal’s eyes through the dark of the hotel room. He liked everything about it. He liked everything about him.

Boris closed his eyes again, resting with the comfort of knowing Kamal was there. He didn’t even realize that his sleep had been nearly dreamless.

Half an hour passed and Kamal finally stirred, shifting his position to lay on his back and face the ceiling, his eyes still closed. Boris propped himself up on his elbow, positioning himself so he was able to see Kamal’s whole face, or as much of it as wasn’t obscured by blankets. Kamal let out a soft grunt, twisting his head a little on top of his neck, and slowly blinked open his eyes, dry with sleep but still the same deep brown eyes Boris knew so well. His gaze found the ceiling first, then Boris. A groggy morning smile found itself on his face, and Boris relaxed further upon seeing it.

“Good morning, ‘Sleepy-Head.’”

“Morning, doc.”

A moment of hesitation, then one soft, shy kiss on the lips. It was a small peck, gentle and quick, but it somehow felt more real than all of the desire and desperation from the night before, and Boris knew then that last night existed. He hadn’t dreamed it or made it up. Kamal was here, and here he would remain.

Eventually, after enough time had passed, Kamal was the first to make any move to get out of bed. He sat up, yawned, stretched, then looked back at Boris. “Are you ready?”

_ No _ , said Boris’s mind. But he forced that back and transformed it into an “I suppose” when it hit his mouth.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I have to be.” Boris steeled his nerves and sat up beside Kamal, forcing an anxious smile. “If not now, when will I be able to do it?”

Kamal’s gaze softened and he scooted closer to Boris, wrapping him in a hug. Boris closed his eyes and rested his head on Kamal’s shoulder, listening to Kamal’s quiet breathing before he began to speak. “It’s going to turn out okay, big guy.”

“I hope so.”

“It will.”

Boris just leaned his head against Kamal’s, and Kamal didn’t even flinch at the mess of curls obscuring his face.

After a short while, the hug broke and the two began to get ready. Kamal insisted that Boris take the bathroom first (after all, Boris knew how long Kamal’s rituals took, he’d probably go into one of his trances once he picked up his toothbrush), so Boris showered, got himself ready, dried his hair as much as the hotel-provided blow dryer would allow with the thickness of his hair, scrubbed his mouth as clean as he could with his toothbrush, and stepped back out into the room. He got dressed as Kamal brushed his teeth, wondering all the while if he ought to put on makeup. He loved it back at home, thought of it as a fun way to express himself that he hadn’t felt safe doing in the earlier stages of his transition, but… 

Well, he was in Moscow. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Not here, not now. He left his mascara in his bag.

Kamal came out of the bathroom after a long while, his teeth as bright as they could get, his anxiety surrounding them having visibly dissipated after finishing his rituals. He looked up at Boris, letting out a sigh accompanied by a tired smile. “You look lovely.”

“You do, too.” Boris offered a similar smile back to Kamal.

Kamal hesitated briefly, then came over to Boris, wrapping his arms around his middle and pressing his forehead into his chest. The gesture was cautious, gentle, but sweet and succinct. It said all the words Boris needed to hear, and he wrapped himself around Kamal in return, closing his eyes and feeling Kamal, reminding himself that he was there, alive, whole.

He had to go see his father. If not today, it wasn’t ever going to happen.

They held the embrace for as long as they could before Boris was going to lose his nerve, and so had to let go. They exchanged one last kiss on the mouth, a shy peck, before Boris grabbed Pabit and the two left the room, heading downstairs to the lobby. The walk felt like it took a thousand years, as did the waiting for a cab. Boris didn’t know how he remembered the address when the cab driver asked for it. He said it with a numb mouth, the words hardly having the effect on him he’d thought they would. Or perhaps the numbness itself was the effect. He wasn’t really sure anymore.

The drive to the small town outside of Moscow where Boris used to live was not nearly as conversational as most of Boris and Kamal’s car rides together. Boris still pointed out the occasional landmark he remembered, or murmured the name of a building they passed that wasn’t there any more. They didn’t hold hands, although each of them could tell that the other wanted to. Their hands instead rested between them, fingertips just brushing each other, and the contact was enough to keep Boris from spiraling into a panic when they turned down a street he recognized all too well.

The cab stopped and Kamal got out first, followed by Boris, who thanked and paid the driver before turning to look at the familiar house. It was different now, painted white instead of brown, but it was certainly the house he’d grown up in. Part of Boris was almost surprised that the house was still there. Sometimes he’d liked to imagine it fading away after all of his years away from it, like distance would somehow create immateriality. But of course, the house still stood. Kamal’s hand lightly touched Boris’s arm as they gazed upon it, and Boris forced himself back into the real world.

“Is this the place?” Kamal asked.

Boris swallowed. “Yes.”

Kamal was silent for a long moment. “Are you ready?”

Boris couldn’t answer at first. Not verbally. But he looked to one side, then the other, then behind them, then in front. Once he had ascertained that they were alone, he reached down to grab Kamal’s hand and squeeze it. “Yes,” he said, and he hoped he meant it.

The two made their way to the front door of the house. It was a different door now, Boris realized; he supposed it had been replaced. Perhaps his father had done some sort of overhaul of the house, some sort of erasure of the past that Boris remembered too vividly to ever fully erase from his own mind. 

Kamal’s gaze flickered from the door up to Boris. Boris noticed the look, Kamal’s eyes asking a question without words-- _ are you going to knock, or should I? _ \--and he forced himself to close one hand in a fist. He nodded slightly at Kamal, who understood the gesture, taking one step back to allow Boris to knock.

A long moment of hesitation. Deep, trembling breaths. The never-forgotten sound of his father’s voice mixing in with the gentle breeze in the pines.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

Silence.

A second passed. Two. Three. Boris felt as though he was going to vomit. This was a bad idea, it was a  _ horrible _ fucking idea, they should just go back to the States and forget about this whole plan--

“ _ Hello? _ ”

Kamal nudged Boris, bringing him out of his spiral, and for the first time Boris saw the woman who had opened the door. He didn’t recognize her. She was perhaps ten years older than Boris, late forties. Her green eyes were narrowed, not with hostility, but confusion. She looked back and forth between Boris and Kamal, and Boris found himself able to relax a little at the realization that she did not recognize them either.

“Hello--I mean…” Boris cleared his throat, switching to Russian mid-sentence. “ _ Do you speak English? _ ”

The woman shook her head. “ _ Who are you? _ ”

Boris paused, unsure how to answer for a moment, before hearing his mouth move almost on its own. “ _ My name is Boris, _ ” he said, “ _ and this is my friend Kamal. _ ” He gestured to Kamal, who waved sheepishly. “ _ He does not speak Russian. _ ”

The woman nodded to Kamal, offering him a cautious smile. “ _ I’m sorry, _ ” she said, turning her gaze back to Boris, “ _ but if you are here to sell me something, I’m not interested-- _ ”

“ _ I used to live here. _ ” Boris swallowed as he said it, scratching at the palms of his hands. “ _ When I was a child. _ ”

The woman was silent for a long moment. Her eyes remained on Boris for a long while, then wandered back to Kamal. After some hesitation, she sighed and stepped back. “ _ Come in, _ ” she said, pressing her lips together in what could have been a smile.

Boris looked over to Kamal, almost asking him if he thought it was a good idea. Kamal offered an encouraging smile, though, and Boris knew what he needed to do. He stepped through the door, followed by Kamal, and looked around the home he used to call his own.

It was like a different house now. Boris recognized the structure, the general build, but the furniture was different, the walls repainted. There were plants now; not many, but the occasional houseplant startled Boris. He’d only been allowed his Lily as a child, and even that became too much for his father after Boris grew too attached.

“ _ You two can feel free to make yourselves at home, _ ” the woman said, closing the door behind them. “ _ If you would like, you may look around. I suppose you came back for the memories. _ ”

“ _ I… _ ” Boris cleared his throat, pulling himself from his daze, and turned to the woman. “ _ I… wanted to ask you something. _ ”

“ _ Yes? _ ”

“Did u…” Boris realized he was speaking English again and quickly switched back. “ _ Sorry. Did you know the last person who lived here…? _ ” He swallowed and forced the name from his throat. “ _ Vladislav Kandinsky? _ ”

The woman considered, then slowly shook her head. “ _ I’m afraid I never met the previous homeowners… Why do you ask? Do you know him? _ ”

Boris nodded. “ _ He's my father. _ ” A deep breath. “ _ We… Kamal and I, we came from the United States to find him. _ ”

The woman frowned. “ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

“What’s happening?” Kamal murmured, nudging Boris’s arm.

Boris smiled sadly at the woman and turned to look at Kamal. “She doesn't know him.”

“Shit…” Kamal flexed his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, looking off to the side and then back to Boris. “Are you okay…?”

Boris gave a tiny nod, nearly imperceptible, before looking back to the woman. “Sorry-- _ I mean, sorry _ ,” he said. “ _ We won't take up too much more of your time. _ ”

“ _ You don’t need to leave right away, _ ” the woman said quickly before touching the back of her neck, obviously a bit embarrassed. “ _ I’m sorry. It just… It does get awfully lonely out here sometimes. My son is never home, he’s always off working in the city, and… Well, since my husband passed, I don’t get much company. _ ” She smiled a little, and already she felt more like a mother to Boris than his own mother ever had. “ _ Of course, you don’t have to, but you two could stay for tea, if you’d like. You can tell me about your memories of this house. We just moved in about two weeks ago. _ ”

Boris tipped his head to one side, unsure of what to say at first. Of the things he had expected from visiting his childhood home, being invited to stay for tea by a lonely widow was… not at the top of his list. “ _ I… Let me ask my friend. _ ” He turned to Kamal, lightly nudging his shoulder with one hand. “She wants to know if we want to stay for tea.”

“Uh… I mean, if you’re okay with it.”

Boris considered for a second, then looked back at the woman. “ _ We would love to stay! But… _ ”

The woman blinked. “ _ Yes? _ ”

The question hung back in Boris’s mouth like it was terrified of the consequences of escaping. But Boris’s tongue eventually pushed it out, forcing whatever consequences it feared to be realized. “ _ Can… Can I see my childhood bedroom first? _ ”

The woman seemed to sense the tension behind the question, but she didn’t comment on it. She simply gave him a small nod, accompanied by a little smile. “ _ I can prepare the tea while you look. I hope it brings you some comfort. _ ”

Boris’s voice was nearly a whisper. “ _ I hope so too. _ ”

He turned to Kamal and gestured with his head toward the back of the house. Kamal looked as though he had a question on his lips, but no sound came from his mouth. He simply followed Boris as he began to walk through the house, smiling softly at the woman as he passed her.

Boris miraculously still remembered where each doorway led. Every room had changed, but he could still see all of them in their former states if he imagined hard enough. Some of the hardwood floors had been replaced with carpet, seemingly a recent decision judging by the cleanliness of said carpet flooring. The walls seemed to echo less now. It was far quieter in the house now than it had been when Boris lived there.

After what was seemingly an eternity of walking, the door to Boris’s old bedroom came into view. It was near the back of the house; he remembered the window that overlooked a thick group of bushes and an old pine tree. He wondered if the bushes and the tree were still there, nineteen years after he’d been here for the last time. He wondered if he would recognize his room upon entry. He wondered if opening the door would bring him to tears.

Before Kamal could ask if he was okay, Boris opened the door.

The room was different. It was the same room, for sure, but it had changed quite a bit since Boris’s youth. The walls were blue now, rather than the off-white they had been throughout Boris’s time growing up here. The old chest of drawers was gone, replaced with a newer one. The bed was different and in a different place than it had been before. There was a clock on the wall, some pictures adorning the space beneath it, pictures of people Boris didn’t recognize. The floor was still the same hardwood that Boris remembered, but there was a rug at the foot of the bed now. There was a bookshelf. If Boris squinted, he could see his old room as it had been, but it had changed so much.

He… almost felt fine.

He stepped inside the room, looking around, getting closer views of every surface. He looked back at the doorway, looking for Kamal, but Kamal stayed where he was standing. He didn’t need to say anything, just smiled softly at Boris in a way that said  _ this is your journey, big guy. I’ll be here if you need me. _

The bed frame was completely different from the one Boris had had when he lived here. There was a section of the wall that looked smoother than the rest; Boris imagined that was where they had patched up a hole that his father had once punched into the wall when Boris was getting ready to leave for college in the United States. It hadn’t gotten fixed by the time he’d left. He was glad they’d repaired it.

He turned to the window. There were curtains covering it, big white curtains that he pushed aside, resting his hand on the windowsill as he did so. The bushes were long gone, replaced with grass, but the old pine tree remained, he noticed. The bark was still as scraggly as ever, the branches still just slightly wilted. He was amazed it hadn’t died yet. His thumb ran lightly over the windowsill as he looked, just fidgeting a little, just trying to keep himself from flying away completely into memory--

Then he felt the scratch.

Boris’s thumb caught in a small nick in the windowsill. He looked down, pulling his hand back, inspecting, and it took him a long second to realize what it was.

_ CRASH. _

His Lily.

_ CRACK. _

The shattered pot.

_ SMASH. _

The dirt on his bare feet. The scratching of the broken ceramic on his arm. The sharp and throbbing pain in his face, the metallic taste and hot stickiness of blood in his mouth, the sound of screaming--fucking  _ screams _ of pain, he  _ heard _ them, they were real, they were surrounding him and suddenly Boris was breaking into pieces. His father was here, he was fucking here, Boris was eight, nine, ten, he didn’t even remember any more--all he knew was he was  _ fucking here _ and he was shouting, oh, God, he was shouting, he was screaming at him, the same way he always did, booming, terrifying--

“ _ You want to say you’re a man so fucking badly, _ ” Boris heard in Russian, “ _ then I’ll treat you like one, fucking queer! _ ”

The nightmares were awake now. They surrounded Boris. He was crumpled on the floor, his mouth shattered and filling faster and faster with blood, his body completely shutting itself off aside from screaming and panting and involuntary kicking and NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,  _ NO, NO, NO! STOP!  _ ** _PLEASE STOP, I WON’T DO IT AGAIN, I PROMISE, PLEASE STOP, NO, NO, NO!!!_ **

There were vague voices behind his screams. Boris could barely make out some English words, was he okay?-- _ no, no, NO _ \--and he vaguely saw the outline of another person, not his father, quickly reaching into his coat and producing something, something vaguely puppet shaped, and now that item was being pushed toward him and  _ NO, NO, DON’T TOUCH ME, DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME, I WON’T DO IT AGAIN! _ There’s a woman’s voice now, too, terrified Russian words mixing with his father’s screams, and somewhere in the room an English shout of “hospital! hospital!” floats, reverberating off the walls with Boris’s cries, trembling in his ears with the screams of his father and indifference of his mother; he can’t see, he can’t breathe, oh fuck, he’s going to die here, isn’t he?

Where is his Lily? Where is his Lily? WHERE IS HIS LILY?

***   
  


Boris woke up in a white room. At first his vision was hazy, blurred and incomprehensible, but soon a door came into focus, then a wall, then his own chest. He vaguely felt the weight of his arm hanging off the side of whatever he was laying in, and slowly he became aware of a hand holding his, warm and steady and unmoving.

“...Kamal…?”

Boris’s eyes found the man by his bedside and watched him look up from his lap, finding Boris’s face and breaking down in tears immediately upon beginning to speak. “Boris!” Within seconds Kamal was hugging him, and Boris hugged back with what energy he had. “I was so fucking worried, oh my God, are you okay? Do you feel any better? I was so scared, I’m so glad you’re okay…”

“What happened…?”

Kamal swallowed hard, leaning back to look at Boris’s face. “You… You had some kind of, some kind of, ah, flashback, back at the house… I tried to give you Pabit, but you wouldn’t stop screaming, and you were obviously so scared, and…” Tears ran down Kamal’s face, and he slowly sat back down in his chair by Boris’s bed, taking Boris’s hand as he did so. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. I--”

Kamal was cut off by the sound of a door opening. Boris looked over to the source of the sound and locked eyes with a doctor in a white coat, carrying a clipboard. He spoke in English, much to Boris’s surprise. “Mr… Habit?”

Boris’s mouth opened, but no sound escaped for a few long seconds, not until he forced an answer out. “...Yes.”

The doctor nodded and gave Boris a slight smile. “It looks like you feel better. You’re awake now.”

Boris couldn’t answer verbally. His mouth was too dry, his throat too raw from screaming. He just gave a slight nod.

“Well… You should be able to check out within the half hour,” the doctor said, looking at the clipboard. “Your heart is fine, which is the main thing we were concerned about… But you seem to be intact. You should be easy on yourself for a while, avoid strenuous activity, get plenty of sleep tonight…” He looked back up at Boris and offered a smile. “But right now, you are okay. You’re very lucky. You can talk about this with your insurance company when you return to the United States.”

Boris let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, feeling all his muscles relax as much as they could. He heard Kamal say “Thank you, Doctor” and he heard the door close. He felt Kamal’s hand, warm on his cheek, and he felt himself leaning up to kiss him now that the room was empty. He felt Kamal’s lips on his, and however brief and risky the kiss was, it brought Boris back to life.

“I’m so sorry,” Boris whispered as he pulled away from Kamal’s lips. “I’m so sorry for causing you that pain.”

“Don’t be. Really. You couldn’t help it.” Kamal’s voice was soft. “You’re okay, and that’s what matters.”

For a moment, Boris worried that the wet, hot feeling on his face was blood, but as soon as he took in a breath he realized that he was only crying. “I love you,” he said in only a half-impulsive whisper. If there was a time to say it, now was as good a time as any. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Boris.” Kamal was crying as well. Boris could hear it in his voice. “I love you too.”

Ten minutes passed in quiet. Kamal’s hand remained tightly held in Boris’s. Boris vaguely remembered the events of earlier that day, but he chose not to dwell on them. He didn’t want to panic again. He’d already had too much of that for one day.

“...Are you hungry?”

Boris turned to look at Kamal. His dark eyes were glossy, but the tears on his face had dried. Boris realized in that moment that he hadn’t eaten anything at all that day.

“...Yeah,” he said, allowing himself a tiny smile as he did so. “I am.”

Kamal smiled back, just a little. “Okay,” he said, getting to his feet and grabbing Boris’s coat and Pabit from another chair next to the one he had been sitting in. “Let’s check out and get something to eat. Hospital food okay?”

“Anything is okay, as long as you are here.”

Boris put his coat back on, stuffing Pabit back in his usual spot. He stole one last kiss with Kamal before opening the door and stepping outside, Kamal close behind him. The signs were all in Russian, so Boris was the one to navigate them back toward the front desk. A name, a photo identification, one or two questions, and Boris was checked out of the hospital. Easy. Quick. Non-stressful. Now to find the hospital cafeteria.

More signs. More doctors. More patients. More wishing he could hold Kamal’s hand.

When they found the cafeteria, Boris was the one to open the doors. It was large, sterile, white, uninviting. People milled about, some talking loudly, some not talking at all. Boris stood in the door, taking it all in, stationary. There was… a lot going on in here. He wasn’t sure he wanted to…

Kamal’s voice piped up. “Maybe we ought to find a restaurant…”

But Boris’s eyes were locked in one place. His heart was racing and his stomach dropped. He felt his hands begin to tremble. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.

A man sat in a wheelchair. He was skinnier than Boris remembered, older than Boris remembered, balder than Boris remembered. He wasn’t looking at Boris, but Boris saw his face. He would know that face anywhere. He saw it in his dreams almost every night.

Vladislav Kandinsky.

His father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry for the late update for this chapter! it took me... WAY longer than expected to finish this one. it was extremely hard to write, seeing as it's definitely the most intense chapter of this fic that i've written so far. hell, my hands are still shaking while i'm typing this...
> 
> i want to clear something up! my update schedule will probably be changing so that i'll now be updating weekly on either wednesdays or thursdays! there's only two more chapters left after this one, so that won't affect much, but i just wanted to let you all know that that's what's happening.
> 
> comments and kudos are SUPER appreciated! i promise i read and appreciate every single comment you guys leave, they all mean so much to me. my tumblr is winemomparker if you ever wanna chat (or send me cute habismal fanart that crosses your dash), i hope you're all having a lovely day! thank you so very much for reading!


	8. Step eight: See the silhouette of closure, and reach for it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains some transphobia and strong language.

**Step eight: See the silhouette of closure, and reach for it.**

As soon as Boris overcame his momentary paralysis, he turned back to the doors they had come through and grabbed Kamal’s wrist, pulling him back out into the hallway. Kamal reflexively jerked a little before grabbing Boris’s forearm to stabilize himself as he stumbled after the taller man. “Hey, hey, what’s going—”

“He’s here.”

Kamal stiffened, his grip on Boris’s forearm tightening. He didn’t say anything at first, not until they were down at the end of the hall and Boris had stopped. Boris was breathing heavily, his chest heaving in and out, never able to quite get enough air. It was like the hospital air was choking him now. It felt thick, almost contaminated. His knees buckled, seemingly near giving out, and he had to lean against a wall.

“Boris…” Kamal’s hand moved down to hold Boris’s in a way innocuous enough so as not to attract any attention. “You okay? Where is he?”

“In there.” Boris gestured with his head to the room they had come from. “I saw him. He was, hee, he’s skinny now, more than when I was growing up, and he has less hair, but it's him. I know his face. It’s him, he’s here, he…” Boris’s stomach turned, and he worried he might throw up. “I can't, I—”

“Shh. Deep breaths.” Kamal’s voice was soft. “That’s… I know it’s scary, but it’s a good thing, right? We came here to find him. Now we know where he is, and you can… you can work on that plan, yeah?” He glanced around them, ascertaining that nobody was looking at them, and gave Boris’s hand a quick squeeze. “You’ve got this. I promise.”

Boris wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not in the hallway of a Russian hospital. He wasn’t going to let himself. Instead he squeezed Kamal’s hand and then let go of it, beginning to pace back and forth. He had to keep moving. He had to distract himself or he was going to throw up or cry or have a shutdown and nobody wanted any of those things. “I'm… I’m here to talk to him, that's why I’m here…” One of his hands caught in his hair, the other pressed itself to the side of his face, pushing itself against his eye socket until he saw those all-too-familiar flashing lights. “I have to, I need to find a way…”

“Let’s… Maybe we should step outside for a minute, get some fresh air, help us think—”

“I’m okay.” Boris said it more to himself than to Kamal, and he stopped pacing, slowly bringing his hands down from his head. “I… I am going to talk to him. It's why I’m here.”

Kamal paused, then nodded slightly, stepping back. “Are we… Should we go back to that lunch room, or…?”

“No, no, I don't… It can’t be anywhere crowded.” Boris looked down the hallway in the direction of the waiting room. “I… I’m going to try to get his room number.”

“Will they let you in?”

“If they know I’m his child.”

Kamal considered, then sighed gently and tried to meet Boris’s gaze. “Do you want me to go with you? To his room?”

Boris slowly shook his head. “Thank you, but…” He let out a cough and looked at Kamal. “I… think I need to do this alone.”

Kamal swallowed, but gave him an understanding nod. “Do… you want a hug?”

Boris thought for a moment, then answered Kamal by hugging him tightly, resting his chin atop Kamal’s head.

“You’ve got this, big guy,” Kamal murmured. “I know you do.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

Boris would have kissed him so many times had they been alone.

The walk to the waiting room and the check-in desk felt like it took a thousand years, but Boris made it there alive, Kamal in close proximity. When they entered the room, they glanced at one another, and Kamal nodded slightly and went to sit down, flashing Boris an encouraging yet shaky smile. Boris managed a tiny grin in return, one that faded into biting lower lips and shaky hands soon after he turned toward the desk. The woman at the desk looked up at him.

“ _ You’re back. _ ”

Boris nodded. “ _ I need to find somebody's room number. _ ”

“ _ Are you family? _ ”

“_Yes. He’s my…_” Boris paused, wondering what the best course of action to take here would be. Just because he’d had his name changed in the States didn’t mean it would be different here… He supposed it was better to be safe than sorry. “_My father-in-law._ _I was married to his daughter._”

“ _ You were married to her? _ ”

Boris nodded. “ _ She… passed away. I’m here to give him the news. _ ” It wasn’t a bad lie, he supposed. It was convincing enough.

The woman hummed and looked at the clunky computer behind the counter. “ _ Name? _ ”

“ _ Whose? _ ”

“ _ Your father-in-law. _ ”

“ _ Oh. Vladislav Kandinsky. _ ”

The woman looked at the screen, then looked through a stack of files on her desk and produced one from the middle of the stack. “ _ And your wife’s name? _ ”

Boris swallowed, his tongue going dry as he said his old name. He was worried that it would feel too unfamiliar in his mouth, but luckily it didn’t linger for too long, and he didn’t vomit when he said it. It left a bad taste, of course it did, but he could wash that out later. Discomfort was essential to finding closure, he told himself. He was so close to closure. So fucking close.

The woman nodded and looked back up at Boris. “ _ Room 1299, _ ” she said, nodding in the direction that he should go. “ _ Go down the stairs and take a left. _ ”

“ _ Thank you. _ ” Boris’s breath trembled as he said it. He turned away from the desk and locked eyes with Kamal one more time. Kamal’s eyes were still on him; Boris got the feeling he hadn’t looked away at all. He gave Kamal a tiny wave, and Kamal’s gaze softened with care that reminded Boris of his own humanity, humanity that he was always afraid he’d lost as a child.

He hoped Kamal could feel the kiss he was sending him.

Boris turned and started through the hallway, finding the stairwell and beginning his descent. His steps were heavy, almost as though he was moving through an ocean, pushing against the current to reach a treasure he wasn’t sure he even wanted. His shoes hit the stairs and each step sounded like a shattering ceramic flower pot. His breaths were tremulous to the point where he wasn’t sure if he was even breathing. The world convulsed around him, jerky and sharp, all shards of glass and sharp words and rough edges. He couldn’t see straight. He could barely read the numbers when he reached the door.

This was his last chance to turn back.

Boris’s tongue found the gaps in his mouth and felt them out, tasting blood in them again, then feeling the scar tissue that had replaced it. He touched his jaw, remembering how it had snapped and recognizing how it had healed, albeit a little bit crooked. He heard his father’s voice, too loud and too harsh and too angry, and he heard its absence, the sense of peace that came with it, the knowledge that it was far away. He murmured his old name, and he murmured his real one. He saw his father’s face, and he saw Kamal’s. He saw the road behind him, and he saw the road ahead.

The knocking on the door was in time with his own heartbeat and nearly as loud.

“... _ Hello? _ ”

Boris knew that voice.

“ _ Who’s there? _ ”

...Papa?

“ _ I said, who’s there? _ ”

The door creaked open. Boris’s steps were quieter now. He was past the point of feeling sick. Now he felt like he was halfway dead, like he was only partially in his body. What he had left of sight caught the figure in the hospital bed, and that was enough to bring Boris back to life.

Vladislav stared, squinting, as Boris closed the door behind him. “ _ Who… _ ” He leaned forward, scrutinizing Boris, before realization dawned on his face. He said Boris’s old name then, more as a question than a statement, and Boris forced himself to remember how to speak.

“ _ It's Boris now. _ ” His voice shook far more than he had hoped. “ _ My name is Boris. _ ”

Vladislav leaned back in the hospital bed. “ _ Boris, _ ” he repeated slowly. His voice was much quieter than Boris remembered. He was far more wrinkled now. His skin hung from his frame like wet towels on a clothesline. His eyes searched Boris’s, imploring, scouring for answers to questions Boris didn’t know or understand. “ _ You’ve changed. _ ”

Boris blinked hard, not letting himself avert his gaze. “ _ So… So have you. _ ”

“ _ Why the hell are you here? _ ”

“ _ I… _ ” Boris swallowed, pushing away the panic that was beginning to set in. “ _ I came to say something-- _ ”

“ _ Open your mouth. _ ”

Boris stopped mid-sentence. “ _ ...What? _ ”

“ _ You heard me. Open your mouth. _ ”

Reflexively, Boris didn’t let himself think of refusing. His mouth fell open of its own accord, far wider than he had allowed it to open since the Habitat had closed down.

Vladislav leaned forward where he sat, eyes narrowed, focusing on the space between Boris’s lips. “ _ Dental school, _ ” he mumbled, his gaze wandering from tooth to tooth to gap to tooth. “ _ You said you were going to dental school, and you still couldn’t find anybody to fix your fucking teeth. _ ”

Boris’s mouth snapped shut. His face was hot, probably bright red at this point, and his hands were trembling so hard that he was sure his father could see them from where he sat. “ _ I… I didn't come to talk about my teeth, _ ” he said softly, his hand covering his mouth as he said it.

“ _ Speak up, _ ” Vladislav said, coughing on the second word. “ _ Nineteen years without a goddamn word from you, and now you want to mumble? _ ”

Boris felt tears starting in his eyes, but he forced them back. Not here. Not now. He could cry later. He refused to cry in front of his father. “ _ You said that you never wanted me to come back! _ ”

“ _ Would it have fucking killed you to check up? _ ” Vladislav’s voice was as tempestuous as it could be given his frailty. “ _ I’m dying. _ ”

“ _ And how was I supposed to know that? _ ” Boris snapped, shrinking back as soon as he realized his tone. An “I’m sorry” crept toward his lips, a survival instinct left over from his youth, but he bit it back before it could come out. He wasn’t sorry. He wouldn’t let himself be sorry. “ _ I… I came to tell you something. _ ”

Vladislav scoffed, but leaned back and looked away. “ _ State your piece, _ ” he grumbled, his eyes once again finding Boris. His glare was sharper than the fragments of the shattered lily pot that Boris had so vividly remembered that morning.

“ _ I’m… _ ” Remember your script, Boris. You prepared for this. “ _ I’m alive. _ ” He swallowed and clenched his fists, scratching at his inner palms. “ _ You did not kill me. _ ”

“ _ What’s that supposed to mean? _ ”

“ _ It means I won. _ ”

Vladislav stared. “ _ Are you going to fucking cry? _ ”

Boris stopped, his script fumbling and dropping out of his brain. “What?” he said in English, speaking more to himself than Vladislav. He hadn’t realized the tears already running down his face. Hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t cry?

Vladislav didn’t smirk, but Boris remembered how he looked when he did, and it was almost as bad as seeing it. “ _ Maybe I should have killed you. _ ”

“ _ You… You didn't. _ ”

“ _ And now look at you. _ ” Vladislav coughed again, his body shaking as he did, but he continued to speak as soon as the fit subsided. “ _ I sometimes thought about you coming back… I thought that maybe you’d be stronger, that you would have forgotten this whole… _ ” He waved his hand in Boris’s direction. “ _ This whole delusion… But a child born weak is always weak. _ ”

“ _ I am not weak. _ ” He wasn’t weak. Kamal said he was strong, his therapist said he was strong, Aspen said he was strong… He wasn’t weak, was he?

“ _ I should have killed you, _ ” Vladislav continued, not even looking Boris in the eye anymore. “ _ It would have been better for all of us. _ ”

Even all these years later, Boris noticed, his father still had straight teeth, and not once did he smile.

He wanted, more than anything, to knock the teeth from Vladislav’s mouth, to push him to the floor, to hurt him like he had been hurt every single day for thirty-seven years. But while the tears in his eyes blurred his vision, they didn’t blur his better judgement. He wasn’t going to put up with this. He couldn’t. This wasn’t closure. This was fucking torture.

Boris turned away, shoved the door open, and left the room.

He vaguely heard his old name being shouted after him. This was followed by a violent fit of coughing, worse than any of the others, but Boris didn’t turn around. The walls of the hallway parted for him to pass through, a Red Sea of sterilized whiteness. He went up the stairs and it wasn’t until he was halfway back to the waiting room that he heard himself mumbling “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you” over and over.

Kamal was the first thing he really saw after leaving the room. Kamal perked up upon seeing Boris, hopefulness shining in his dark eyes, but the hope was overtaken by concern when Boris took his hand wordlessly and pulled him outside. The early-morning frost was long melted, but it was still cold out, a typical late Russian autumn. Boris didn’t feel the cold as he stepped outside, only the all-consuming need to run away and find a quiet place, far from his father, far from anybody except for Kamal. They rounded a corner and found the back of the building to be completely secluded, and as soon as Boris was confident that they were alone, he leaned against the outer wall of the hospital and slid to sit on the ground, curled up, sobbing hard and loud into his knees.

“Boris…” Kamal’s voice was soft, and Boris felt him come to sit beside him. “Hey, big guy, what happened? Is everything okay?”

Boris sniffed hard and let out another shaky sob, trying as hard as he could to prepare himself to speak. “I… Fuck…”

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Kamal’s tone was thick with concern. “We don’t have to stay here.”

For a long second Boris was terrified that he was going to shut down, that he was going to go unresponsive and he would need Pabit to speak for him again. Eventually, though, his mouth moved, though the voice that came out was hoarse and tired. “I wanted to forgive him.”

Kamal was quiet at first. A moment later, he murmured, “Can I touch your face?”

Boris nodded silently, and Kamal reached up to brush some hair from Boris’s face, catching a few tears as he did so. Boris was slightly comforted by the touch, rather than overwhelmed as he had feared he would be, and so was able to speak a little bit more. “I… I thought maybe that closure would mean forgiving him and moving on with my life… But I…” He choked back another sob. “I can't forgive him for what he did to me! I can't! I wanted so badly to feel good when I saw him again, stronger, or at least not like a scared little boy…”

“You are strong, Boris.”

“I don't  _ feel _ strong.” Boris swallowed hard and let out another involuntary sob. “His… His words… They still hurt just as bad, even when he can't hit me anymore… I can't even feel safe around him when he’s  _ dying _ ! Why did I even come here…!” He let out a cry so loud that he almost felt like he was going to throw up from the force of it, but luckily nobody was there to hear it except for himself and Kamal. “I wasted my time… I wasted your time, I wasted everyone's time…” 

Kamal said nothing. He simply wrapped his arms around Boris, gentle enough so as not to overwhelm him, and Boris leaned into the loving touch. His head found itself on Kamal’s shoulder, and his eyes closed, tears still spilling out but becoming less and less feverish. Had he not been so overwhelmed, maybe he would have kissed Kamal then. He hoped a gentle tap on the back of his shoulder would suffice, and judging from the way Kamal held him a little closer, it did.

“You…” Kamal’s voice started off quiet, but grew into itself as he went on. “You know how I told you a few days ago that nobody owes you forgiveness, even after you’ve become so much better? That goes here, too. Your dad might be sick and he might be family, but… he’s also an asshole. He fucked you up, like… worse than I could ever imagine. Not  _ you _ you, I said that wrong, you’re amazing, I meant, like… more like your life, you know? I’m not making sense.” He let out a breathy laugh at his own words before leaning back to try and make eye contact with Boris. “You… don’t have to forgive him. Not everything hinges on that. You deserve so much better than that.”

Boris leaned away from Kamal, sniffed, and let out another soft cry. “But…” He blinked so hard that tears were squeezed from his eyelashes. “I need closure! How do I get, get, you know, get closure like this? It doesn't feel closed, it just… feels bad…” He opened his eyes again, meeting Kamal’s gaze just enough. “I… I deserve it, I do…”

“You don’t.”

“I do!” Boris took in a gasp to fill his trembling lungs. “What… Kamal, what makes him so different from me? We both did really bad things, we both fucked up people’s lives, we…” He trailed off and looked down to where his hand was scratching at the base of the hospital wall. “I'm no better than him, Kamal...”

“ _ Hey. _ ”

Kamal’s tone was so firm that Boris looked up almost involuntarily. His companion’s gaze wasn’t nearly as soft as he had seen it before.

“You  _ are _ better than him.” Kamal’s voice had a conviction to it that Boris had never heard from him before. “When I said that thing about, about people not owing you forgiveness… I mean, I meant part of it, because nobody is owed anything like that. But Boris, you have something that is  _ worth forgiving _ . Something that I would miss a fuck ton if I had chosen not to forgive you. Because you  _ try _ . And you learn, and you grow, and you get so much better and you’ve become so good, Boris,  _ so _ good, and, like… He hasn’t done that work.” Kamal sat back on his heels and gestured to the hospital building. “Your dad hasn’t done the work you have. He doesn’t give a fuck about getting better and because of that, he’s going to die alone and bitter and angry because he feels he’s owed something. But you…” He reached out and pointed toward Boris, pressing his index finger against Boris’s chest. “You’ve done the work. You’re still doing it every day. And that’s what makes you different from him. Because that work… That work is the hardest fucking thing you’ll ever do. But you’re doing it, and you’re doing it well, and you’re worth more than some… some… some  _ abusive cunt  _ will ever be for it.”

Kamal was breathing heavily by the time he had finished speaking, and Boris recognized the rage in his tone. Usually he was terrified of outright anger, but he could sense that this anger wasn’t directed at him, but at his father. Boris, however, felt a little bit more calm now. Kamal’s words sank into him, and while it took him a while to process them, he knew that Kamal meant them. If Kamal meant them, they had to be true. They had to be.

“I'm not weak?”

Kamal’s breathing steadied itself and the anger in his eyes faded away when he looked back at Boris. “No,” he said, leaning forward to hug his tall companion. “You’re stronger than anybody I’ve ever met. Anybody.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely.” Kamal’s voice shook, and Boris realized he was crying as well.

They stayed there for a very long time. Boris’s tears soaked into Kamal’s shirt, but Kamal didn’t move. They cried together, holding each other as close as physically possible, until eventually the two worked up the energy to get to their feet and, once their eyes were as dry as they were going to get, round the corner and find a cab.

In the back of the car, their fingertips brushed once again. Boris didn’t point out landmarks this time. He was too tired to think about the city, the past, the memories. Kamal was there, and that was where he would keep his attention.

The moment the two were back in their hotel room, Boris kissed Kamal, and Kamal kissed him back. They fell onto the bed together, holding each other, not sexually, but overcome with exhaustion from the day’s events. Boris only kept his eyes open to look at Kamal, and judging from the sleepiness in Kamal’s eyes, Boris expected he was doing the same.

“How are you feeling?” Kamal murmured.

Boris took a moment to register the question, think it through. “I…” He sighed and offered Kamal a tight-lipped half-smile. “I still don't think I’ve found closure.”

Kamal nodded slowly, pulling himself a little closer to Boris. “Maybe closure isn’t one big event,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against Boris’s. “Maybe closure has to… develop over time.”

“Maybe.” Boris closed his eyes and rested a hand on Kamal’s waist. “Do you think I'll ever find it?”

“You will.” Kamal’s voice had lowered to a whisper. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday, you’ll find it. I’m sure you will.”

Boris was quiet, listening only to the sound of Kamal’s breath in tandem with his. “I hope you're right.”

“I hope so too.”

“Let's go home tomorrow.”

Kamal gave a slight nod against Boris’s forehead. “Okay.”

A microcosm of peaceful silence. Boris kissed Kamal once more, and the room was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow... second to last chapter. i cannot believe how far this fic has come, nor can i believe how happy i am with it or how amazing the response has been. to everybody who has left kudos so far, who has left a comment, or even drawn fanart... thank you, thank you, thank you. it truly means the entire universe to me, you all have no idea.
> 
> some notes on this chapter: i hope it was obvious when i was using italics for emphasis and when i was using it to indicate that they were speaking russian! i tried to keep emphasis italics to a minimum during the russian portions to avoid confusion. i also don't know the first thing about how hospitals work, so let's just... casually ignore any factual inaccuracies about how hospitals work, mmkay?
> 
> getting a bit sappy here... this fic has been such a labor of love and i cannot emphasize how incredibly much it means to me. this is an extremely personal story to me and it's very dear to my heart, and seeing how much people love it and identify with it is so overwhelmingly amazing to me. i am absolutely floored by the response to this story and i truly do adore and appreciate every single person who reads it. thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> my tumblr is @winemomparker if anybody wants to chat (or send me cute habismal stuff you see, i'll be eternally in your debt). again, thank you all so much for your unending support. chapter 9, the last chapter, will be released on wednesday. thank you all so much. :-)


	9. Step nine: Keep moving forward.

**Step nine: Keep moving forward.**

Boris’s therapist tipped her head to the side, looking up from her clipboard. “How have things been since our last session?”

“Ooh!” Boris leaned forward in his seat, excitedly tapping his hands on his thighs. “I have some major life updates!”

“Oh? By all means, share.”

“We-e-ell…” Boris tapped his toes on the floor, chewing at his lower lip as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say first. After a few seconds, though, the most exciting piece of information burst forth from his lips without much conscious thought. “Kamal and Putunia moved in last week!”

His therapist grinned. “That’s great to hear! I know you’d been talking about that.”

Boris nodded, his hands flapping with excitement. “Putunia really likes her new room. All of her action figures already have a shelf of their own. And she’s getting along well with Chrysanthemum, to.” He chuckled softly. “They are like partners in crime now. Kamal and I have to keep a close eye on them whenever they’re in ‘Silly Mode’.”

“Chrysanthemum… That’s your cat, yes?”

“Yes! I got her four momths ago.” He sighed and looked out the window toward the parking lot. “I… This is silly, I know it has only been six months, but… If I could marry Kamal, I would. I would do it right now.”

“I’m glad he’s a part of your life,” his therapist said, her voice warm.

“Me too.” Boris stared at the cars in the lot for a moment before looking back at his therapist, beaming once again. “I got my horticulture license last week too!”

His therapist smiled. “That’s great! Did you talk to your friend...Aspen, was it? Did you ask about working with them, like you said you might?”

“I did, but…” Boris chewed his lower lip, not with nerves but uncontainable excitement. “I think I want to start my own nursery.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” Boris couldn’t keep his hands from flapping. “I'm looking at buildings and greenhouses, and Aspen said I could work in conjunction with them and their father, and…” He let out an excited squeak, shaking his head back and forth. “I’m so excited! I cannot wait to get it ‘off the ground’!”

His therapist giggled softly at his excitement. “That’s so great! It’s really awesome that you’re taking the initiative to pursue the things you want. You’ve been really good with that recently.” Her eyes quickly moved up to the clock on the wall, her expression growing more serious as she did so. “Now, I think we have enough time to get into this… I hate to change the subject, but I do want to talk about this before you go.” She looked over at Boris. “How are you feeling trauma-wise, now that it’s been a few months since you went to Russia?”

Boris stopped wiggling when he heard the question. His shoulders deflated a bit and he was reminded that he was in therapy for a reason. “I…” A deep breath found its way into his lungs, and for a moment he had to close his eyes, but they opened again once he was a little more grounded. “I think… I think I'm doing okay.”

His therapist nodded slightly. “Go on,” she said.

Boris swallowed. “It… It still is not easy.” He looked over to a painting on the wall; a painting of a snowy landscape, complete with pine trees and a full moon. “I still get scared, and I still cry sometimes… And I don't think I have closure. Not yet. I… I sometimes think I should have it by now, because it's been so long, but…” He cleared his throat and looked over to his therapist, his eyes resting on her shoes. “Kamal helps remind me that closure is… a process. And I’m better at remembering that now.” His eyes slowly found her face, and he managed a weak smile. “I do not think that I deserved it anymore. I know that I… I deserve love. And I have my friends, and my boyfriend, and my daughter, and my cat… and all of them give me love, or at least what love they can give me, and I love them all back.”

His therapist’s face was kind. “You know, Boris, you really are doing well,” she said. “You’ve improved a lot since we first started meeting and I think everybody around you can see it.”

“You think so?”

She nodded. “Closure is a long road. It’s a  _ very _ long road. But you’re getting there, and you’re doing well.”

Boris was quiet for a moment, reflecting on her words. “I… I am doing well,” he murmured. “Even if I don't always feel like I am.”

“Absolutely,” his therapist said, and Boris knew that she meant it.

When the session was over, Boris stood on the curb outside the office as he always did, feeling the warm air of a New York summer on his skin. It had been six months since he had been to Russia, and while a lot had changed since then, a lot hadn’t. His nightmares still came sometimes, but he no longer had to force back tears when they came. He still gardened every day, but it wasn’t nearly as fervent as before, no longer fueled by the need to distract himself. Kamal still drove him everywhere, but now they woke up together too. He still loved Kamal, but now he could kiss him to show him that.

Boris’s eyes lit up when he saw Kamal’s car pull into the parking lot and brightened even further when he saw the faces inside through the windows. Kamal grinned when he pulled up to the curb and this only continued when Boris got in the car. “Hello there.”

“Hello, handsome,” Boris said, lightly squeezing Kamal’s shoulder as a greeting before turning to the back seat. “Hello, Putunia! How was school today?”

“Hi! It was good,” Putunia said, grinning as she grabbed something laying on the seat beside her. “I put some more improvements on my mask today! Now it’s even MORE red! Look!”

Boris took the brightly-colored mask, turning it in his large hands. “It looks beautiful!” he said, handing it back to Putunia. “I see Chrysanthemum got some of her fluff on it.”

“Well, that might be because  _ somebody _ tried to sneak Chrysanthemum to school with her today,” Kamal said, eyeing Putunia from the rear-view mirror.

“I wanted her to meet Ms. Tabouli!”

“You know we can just… have Ms. Tabouli and Tim Tam over to meet her sometime, instead of trying to sneak her onto the bus?”

Putunia pouted. “It isn’t the SAME.”

“Kamal is right. Cats should not be at school,” Boris said, but he winked at Putunia as he said it and she giggled, winking back at him in response.

Kamal pulled out of the parking lot and into the street. “Honey,” he said, and Boris turned back toward the front so he could look at Kamal. “Putunia asked if she could spend the night at Millie’s tonight, and her moms are both okay with it. What do you say we head over there, see Tiff and Mirphy for a minute, and then have a night to ourselves?”

Boris lit up at the idea of a quiet night with Kamal, his fingers tapping against his palms with excitement. “That sounds lovely!” He turned to Putunia in the back. “Are you excited to see Millie?”

“Yeah!” Putunia beamed. “We’re gonna burn stuff in the driveway!”

“No-o-o, you’re not.  _ Only _ if her moms say that’s okay and watch while you do it. I don’t want either of you getting hurt,” Kamal said firmly. He stopped at a red light and nudged Boris with his shoulder. “Hon?”

“Mm?” Boris looked back at Kamal only to see Kamal’s eyes on him. He grinned softly and leaned over to kiss him, and Kamal kissed him back.

“GROSS,” Putunia called from the back seat. Boris and Kamal both laughed, pulling back just as the light turned green and Kamal continued to drive down the street.

Kamal was beside him, and he was real. Putunia was behind him, and she was real. Chrysanthemum was probably napping in a sunbeam at home, and she was real. And Boris? Boris was real. He knew, for the first time in a very long time, that he was real.

Closure is a process with a lot of steps. You have to ask questions, hard ones, and make plans, also hard. Sometimes you’ll have second thoughts. Sometimes you’ll have to get a lot of extra opinions. But eventually you’ll be able to be honest with yourself and take that leap of faith. You remember why you’re searching. You see closure and you reach for it, and if it’s just out of reach, you keep going. You can’t stop, Boris thought to himself. Not yet. Not ever.

The road to closure was a long one, bumpy and twisty and terrifying, a constant uphill climb. But Boris didn’t have to walk alone. The knowledge that Kamal would walk beside him, that all of his loved ones would walk beside him as far as they could, made Boris almost as excited for the rest of the journey as he was to reach the peak. Closure wasn’t here yet. But he was finding pieces of it every day, and rejoicing in every little one.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. it's over. i seriously cannot believe i finished this fic and i cannot believe so many of you followed it the whole way through. it really does mean the world that so many of you stuck around and that this story means so much to so many of you. i love and appreciate you all endlessly.
> 
> i want to note that this will NOT be my only sfm fic! i have some stuff i'm co-authoring with my darling friend Never_Eat_Sour_Wheat (check out their sfm slice of life series you will not regret it) and i'm planning on writing a couple of one-shots as well, some of which might be spin-offs of this very fic! maybe i'll get around to doing another chaptered sfm fic sometime soon... who knows?
> 
> again, thank you all so very much for your endless support for this fic. my tumblr is @winemomparker if any of you ever want to chat. i love you all. thank you for walking with me on this long and twisty road. <3


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